


Mass x Acceleration

by Dixxy



Series: Laws of Motion [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixxy/pseuds/Dixxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping from Dr. Thomas Tesla, Sanji and Nami arrive on the quiet shores of Apple Island, an isolated farming community cutoff from Den Den Mushi signals and trade routes. As they befriend the people on the island and recover from their captivity, the cook and navigator need to decide what to do with their lives again: do they get better and try to find their way back to Luffy, or is living quietly on the island and leaving their lives as pirates behind the best option?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

                The young woman had passed out, and Mac nearly panicked. However, his house was in sight – just a little bit more and they’d be inside. Braeburn was next to him, trying to keep an eye on the young man in his arms, the mayor, and the young woman he was carrying. Cobbler was moving about around them, circling them as they walked – he, too, was trying to protect these injured strangers.

                “Where do you think they could have come from?” asked Braeburn.

                “Don’t know, don’t care – as long as they’re here, on this island, it’s my job to make sure they’re safe,” Mac said stoically. They passed through the gate in the backyard, and the mayor nudged the backdoor open. Into the kitchen they went, Braeburn kicking the door closed as soon as the dog was inside. Cobbler sat by the door, stoically looking at his master and the blacksmith.

                Mac looked at the young woman in his arms again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had happened to her, but whatever it was had been nasty. He wasn’t sure if her passing out was good or not – he supposed it was possible this meant she was resting, or she’d slipped into something worse. He didn’t know. He wasn’t a doctor.

                _Doctor. Of course._

                “I’ve got a guest bedroom upstairs with two twin beds – let’s get them up there and get them under the covers. After that, go get Robert – there’s only so much we can do and it’s not going to be enough. We need to get him here as soon as we can,” Mac ordered, leading Braeburn to the stairs. “And we need to keep this quiet for now – once things get better we’ll figure out what to do next but I don’t want this to start a panic in town.”

                “Wait – why are we keeping them a secret?”

                Mac lowered his eyes as they got to the base of the stairwell. “I’m the mayor of this island. Don’t get me wrong – I want to help these two just as badly as you do, but I have to protect the people who live here as well. Besides, this could cause a panic – not only would that be bad for the other people here but it might hurt these too as well.”

                Braeburn understood – telling everyone on the island what happened would do nothing to help these people – it might even make it worse if a panic started and people started marching on the mayor’s house demanding answers, possibly disrupting the patient’s rest of any of Gala’s attempts to treat them. The only people who had any business knowing what was going on (aside from those already privy to that information) was the island’s doctor and maybe the mayor’s mother, a retired midwife and the only other person with any kind of medical training to be found. Other than that, no one, really.

                When they got halfway up the stairs, Mac felt a hand tugging on his arm. The girl’s eyes were half open. “Bellemere,” she said. The mayor paused, looking at her in curiosity. Did she need something? He readjusted her in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed to calm down, relaxing a little in his arms. “Bellemere . . .”

                _I wonder who she’s talking about?_ “It’s okay, it’s okay, everything’s going to be all right,” he said. She quieted, seeming to have passed out again. Mac frowned. _Poor things. They must have been through a lot._ He held her closer, continuing to tell her it was going to be all right and wondering how long it was going to take them to get Dr. Gala to his house.

                They finished the climb as Braeburn led them to the guest bedroom door.  There were two twin sized beds in the room, and the men quickly and quietly assigned a patient to each. The warmth of the blankets would probably do them both good, as there was no telling how long they’d been out there in the cold. In a few minutes the two drifters were nestled snuggly in the beds, but neither looked very comfortable.

                Braeburn looked to the mayor for guidance. “Okay, what now?”

                “Robert,” said Mac.

                “Right. Robert.”

                There was banging outside of his door.

                Dr. Robert Gala looked up from his book and out the window to see the blacksmith pointing at the door with an angry look on his face. The young doctor tilted his head to the side, stood, and walked to the door. “In a minute, in a minute, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered. He opened the front door and was nearly knocked on his rear as the blacksmith bolted in.

                “Where’s your bag!? We need to go now! NOW!”

                Gala stared at Braeburn in bewilderment. “What?” he asked.

                “There are sick people at Mac’s and we-“

                The word “sick” was all Gala needed to hear. He glared, and the blacksmith quieted. “How sick?” the doctor asked, folding his arms and looking at Braeburn in concern. The blacksmith wasn’t the type to get THAT panicky over a papercut, so whatever had riled him up must have been serious (or, at the very least, appeared serious to someone without medical training). “If they are that sick I need symptoms so I know what I need.”

                “Oh God, I don’t know – they were washed up in a little boat wearing next to nothing – bald, skinny, pale, you have to see for yourself – something’s wrong with them but we don’t know what!” Braeburn put his hands on the doctor’s shoulders. “I am a blacksmith. Mac is a mayor. We don’t KNOW any doctoring. That’s YOUR job!”

                The doctor had heard enough for the moment. _Even without knowing what happened, if they were barely dressed in this weather they’re in danger of frost bite and hypothermia. If there’s anything else I won’t be able to tell until I get there, but we need to hurry._ He quickly made a short, mental checklist of what needed to get to the mayor’s house as quickly as possible and volunteered the blacksmith to fetch anything he needed for symptoms he didn’t anticipate. Which, considering what little he knew, could be a lot of things.

                Gala raised his hand to Braeburn’s lips and pointed down the hall. He needed to calm the blacksmith down and get him focused on the task at hand. “My office. Now. We’re loading up my medical bag with as much as we can carry. Be prepared to do a lot of running – if I find something else you will need to get it to me an hour ago – clear?”

                Braeburn nodded, following the doctor into the medical room. As Gala started to gather supplies and had the blacksmith gather the easily identifiable ones, he empathized with the other man and Mac. They wanted to help, but neither was very good at basic first aid, never mind taking care of seriously ill patients.

                “Tell me everything you can remember – it might help.”

                The mayor’s new suits looked amazing.

                Ria Elstar was humming to herself as she carried the carefully packed parcels through town towards the mayor’s house. He had been in need of new suits – badly – and she was pleased with how the order had turned out. Certainly the suits were going to cost him a pretty penny and she’d be able to stuff some extra berries into her rainy day fund, or buy her girls new dolls – they had been particularly well behaved as of late – or maybe treat her family to a special dinner.

                She nearly started to drool over the thought of getting a nice big ham, or maybe a turkey.

                Ria left the main part of town to get to Mac’s home. She thought it was a bit inconvenient to have the mayor’s home and office away from the main part of the island, but it was nice and quiet there, and maybe when the home was built the islanders thought it would be best for their leader to have a place away from all the commotion to do his work in peace. It wasn’t like it bothered her, and it didn’t change that he had an office in the town hall so it wasn’t like he was inaccessible.

                The mayor’s house came into sight. Ria smiled – she’d probably be able to go in for a few minutes and have a cup of tea or something else nice and warm. Snow was very pretty, but also very cold, and Ria wasn’t a fan of the latter. Still, it was nice living on one of the few islands on the Grand Line that had multiple seasons.

                Ria got to the door and started to knock. “Mac?” she called.

                No answer came right away, but before she started to worry she heard the sounds of footsteps rushing down the stairs. She raised an eyebrow – Mac had a bad knee and had to be gentle with it, so it was very rare for the man to run.  Maybe Dr. Gala had come up with a new treatment for him to heal the old injury better?

                She could hear Mac calling out from behind the closed door, and it was soon obvious he had been expecting someone else. “That was fast! Were you on this end of town or something? The patients are- ” The mayor threw the door open, looking worried and frazzled. When he saw it was the seamstress outside and not whoever it was he was expecting, he looked exasperated and disappointed.

                “Don’t look so happy to see me,” she said dryly.

                The mayor looked like he was trying to decide something. Odd. It wasn’t like there was much of a decision to be made. He wanted a suit. He ordered a suit. She took his measurements and made the suit. They had done a few fittings to fix what Mac didn’t like and adjust places that didn’t fit. All he had to do was take the suit and pay her.

                Ria paused – he had said something that made very little sense with what she was there for.  Did he mean “patience”, like what Wendy and Sundae didn’t have while she was trying to make them dinner, or did he mean “patients” like sick or injured people? The former made no sense – the suit was supposed to be done the following day and she had gotten a little extra time to finish it ahead of schedule. As for the latter . . .

                The mayor took a deep breath, giving his decision one last go over, over then let it out. “I’m sorry, Miss Elstar. . . something’s happened,” he said slowly. “I realize it isn’t your forte but you’ve taken care of the girls when they were sick before, right?” Ria paused, then slowly nodded. Of course she took care of her babies when they weren’t feeling well – was he stupid or something?

                “Are you okay, Mac?” she asked.

                The mayor swallowed. “I think I need your help – just until Gala gets here.”

                Ria froze. “What do you need Gala for?” she asked.

                Mac shuddered. “We have a pair of . . . God, I don’t know what happened to them, but they washed up on the beach this morning. Braeburn’s run off to find Dr. Gala and . . . I don’t know what to do here.” He reached out and grasped her hand. “Please help me. I’ve never had to take care of anyone in bad shape before.”

                “If you’re this desperate for Gala-“

                “Please help me – don’t you have mother’s instincts or something?”

                The seamstress relented. “Okay, okay, we’ll figure something out, just calm down.”

“Something isn’t right,” Gala said, pondering what Braeburn had told him as the swiftly walked towards the mayor’s home. The blacksmith looked at the doctor funny, to which the doctor shook his head. “They were in awful shape, right? Torn up clothes, thin, barely conscious – those could all point to being out at sea for too long after being marooned or shipwrecked.”

                Braeburn nodded. Shipwreck made sense to him.

                “But you described them as pale – that makes no sense for someone who’s been out on the open sea. They should be sunburned or tanned after prolonged exposure – not pale. That doesn’t make any sense.” He looked at his hands, trying to weigh the possibilities. “I’m going to need to take a closer look at them to figure out what happened, but the more I think about it the more it’s giving me the creeps.”

                Braeburn swallowed. If Gala was this nervous without even looking at them . . .

                Mac definitely needed her help – Ria wasn’t much of a nurse herself, but the poor mayor didn’t have a clue. Keeping the two bundled up in the beds he had provided them with, the seamstress told him to get water. If they’d been out on the open sea, they needed clean drinking water. True, they were underweight and probably malnourished, but dehydration was the faster killer.

 _Once upon a time, I was a complete stranger who washed up on this island in distress. And this place is my home now. It’s where I’ve been able to raise my little girls and watch them grow. Maybe it’s only fair that I help the next drifting strangers to find themselves here,_ she thought to herself, trying to get the young woman to drink.

                “It’s okay, Sugah – it’s just water,” she said, trying to talk soothingly and calmly. She gently brushed her hand over the young woman’s forehead, putting the cup to her lips and hoping she’d drink. “Come on, we want you to stick around for a while longer – you’ve got to hold on until Dr. Gala gets here to fix you two up.”

                The young woman seemed to cringe at the mention of Gala’s name. Ria wondered why – Gala was a perfectly nice man and possibly the best doctor she’d ever encountered. She couldn’t imagine his name making someone uncomfortable. She closed her eyes. _Although . . . those things they were wearing . . ._

                Ria’s eyes widened. Could this have been the work of some kind of mad doctor?

 

                Gala couldn’t believe was he was looking at.

                Being a doctor, he had seen people in various states of the distress, but this might have been the worst he’d seen anyone – including several men and women who’d been lying on their deathbeds. Though they didn’t look like they were knocking down death’s door quite yet, they wore pained expressions on their faces that told the doctor there had been emotional trauma involved, which he wouldn’t know the full extent of until they woke up.

                He’d chased Mac and Miss Elstar from the room so he could focus on his patients, but thanked them both for trying their best before he got there. Even if there were two people in very bad shape, it was better to have one knowledgeable doctor by himself than two makeshift nurses who didn’t know what to do beyond giving them water and keeping them warm. It was hard to split his attention between the two, but he found a way to do it and had makeshift charts for both of them he was furiously scribbling vital signs and symptoms onto.

                “Wh . . . where . . .”

                Gala turned to see the young man was shuffling around in his bed. As far as he knew this was the first the young man had been awake. “It’s all right now,” the doctor said soothingly, turning his attention from the charts to the young man. The young man turned to him, and looked at him with a distant, far away look.

                “Is she . . . is she . . .”

                “Your companion is just fine. She’s in the next bed.” Gala stood and pushed the chair back to allow the young man to see. Relief seemed to wash over his patient and he closed his eyes, mouthing the words “thank God”. “You’ve both been through quite a lot, but you’re in good hands. Just get some rest now, all right?” The young man blinked at him, then rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around himself.

                Gala felt a little better – the young man probably wouldn’t remember any of their exchange and probably wasn’t truly conscious, but knowing his companion was all right had set him at ease a little which was probably good for him. He didn’t want to wake up the female to do the same – let her wake up on her own if she needed to.

                He wondered what their relationship was. Mac and Braeburn had said they’d been huddled together on a small lifeboat, but that didn’t hint at anything. They could have been brother and sister, husband and wife, friends, or even complete strangers who’d just happened to end up in the same awful situation.

                Gala took a second look at the sleeping young man and paused. There were thick lines on his arms and chest. He blinked – he’d missed those during his initial examination, but then again he’d been focused on isolating the most life threatening symptoms. These, though strange, were faint bruises – nothing life threatening from those.

                The doctor took a second look. No, something was wrong. They still weren’t life threatening, but they were consistent with repetitive restraint. Gala felt his stomach churn. Wherever they came from, they were being held down often, if not constantly. He wondered why. Who would do such a thing, and why?

                Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last thing Gala noticed. There was a strange scar on the back of his neck. The doctor moved in closer, and his blood froze when he saw the scar was . . . writing. “0-5-4-4,” he said in a hushed whisper to himself. He wondered if it was some kind of bizarre coincidence all of the scars looked like numbers.

                The doctor turned to the female. _Unless . . ._

                “Where did you find them!?”

                Mac, Ria, and Braeburn all looked up in surprise to see Gala staring at them intently from his perch halfway down the stairs. “Uh, the beach? Maybe a half mile in the direction of the orchards?” The mayor stood, crossing his arms. “Is there something else wrong with what happened here? Are they contagious?”

                Braeburn trembled. He’d run through town and could have hurt the others in the village.

                “No, they’re not contagious, but where did you find them!? There may be others!”

                Ria swallowed. “Others?”

                Gala took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and composed himself. “There are scars on the backs of their neck, and they look like numbers. Sequential numbers. And the numbers are too . . . precise . . . to be some kind of bizarre coincidence. The numbers are each four digits long and start with a zero. I’m worried there could be more – a lot more.”

                Mac couldn’t even give the order to Braeburn and Ria before the two of them were on their way out the door, already discussing plans to comb the beach for more survivors – Cobbler tagged along, seeming to understand that there were more sick people and another set of eyes and ears – even canine ones – would be helpful. He looked at the door as it slammed shut, then back to the doctor. “Tell me what you need me to do,” he said. “Cook? Fetch? Anything – just say the word.”

 

                Hours had passed. Ria, Braeburn, and Cobbler returned – no one else had washed up on the shore. They weren’t sure if that was a relief or not, but Mac quietly pointed out that if more had shown up, Gala wouldn’t be able to handle that many patients in that bad condition. None of them needed to voice that they hoped there were no others.

                Cobbler had gone upstairs and was now guarding the guest room. No one complained.

                Braeburn urged Ria to go home – the twins would be done with their play date soon and they would be looking for their mother. The young woman looked between the people and the room and the door in a panic – she wanted to help, but her daughters were her first priority. She told Mac she would be back with pajamas for their patients and food for everyone involved.

                Braeburn stayed behind in case Gala needed anything else. The two men sat quietly on the couch, contemplating what was going on. “We don’t get a lot of new people on this island,” said Mac. “And everytime we do, there’s some kind of drama involved. First it’s Gala and his special brand of baggage, then you show up with Ria about to go into labor, and now this. Apparently people can’t come to this island without . . . stuff.”

                “Well, think about the overall situation of the island, Mac – normal people aren’t going to come here knowing what’s on this island unless they have no choice. Of course once you get here it’s fine and lovely or whatever you want to call it, but you had to have known that this island was going to see trade with most of the rest of the world grind to a halt,” said Braeburn. “Maybe this island does scare away your so-called ‘normal’ people. So what? The people already here are good and yeah, maybe it takes them a while to get used to the newbies but after a while it’s like we’ve always been here. The two upstairs are going to be no different.”

                Mac sighed. “I know what you mean, and you’re right. You and Ria have established yourselves and your businesses very well here – and Ria with two small children in tow, no less – and we were lucky to get any doctor, never mind someone as competent as Gala. You three have made yourselves at home here and everything worked out fine. It just seems like these two . . .”

                “They have a tougher road ahead of them because they have to get healthy on top of everything else – oh sure, giving birth to twins isn’t a picnic but women have been doing it since the beginning of time and Ria’s a tough cookie. But they’ve survived this long, and as long as Gala’s up there it means he hasn’t given up on them yet, either. Maybe it’ll all be okay.”

                The mayor sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Braeburn. I can’t help but worry though.”

 

                Gala emerged from the guest room to talk with Mac sometime later.  Braeburn had fallen asleep on the couch, and the mayor was just finishing draping a blanket over him. “Mac?” The mayor nodded, gesturing for the doctor to follow him into the kitchen – both for consideration of the sleeping blacksmith’s slumber and a desire to not have him overhear what was going on.

                Once they arrived, Gala flopped into a chair, looking emotionally drained and beside him. He had his head in his hands and was struggling to compose himself. Mac got up to put on a pot of tea – both for his nerves and the nerves of the island’s only doctor. “I don’t know who did this to them, but this isn’t the result of being lost at sea.”

                “Then . . . what is it?” asked Mac.

                “I don’t know. But it was bad. There’s evidence they were held against their will, and everything else suggests that whoever had them was probably not the World Government, unless they’re pulling the wool over the public consciousness. I’d like to stay here for the night to keep an eye on them, and then perhaps send Braeburn back to my office for more supplies – I just don’t know what I’m going to need yet.”

                “That’s fine – stay as long as you need,” said Mac. “Do you have any idea who they are?”

                “None, but I’ve checked them both over for scars and identifying marks – other than those awful numbers. The girl has a tattoo covering a stab scar – the tattoo is very decorative, so I’m guessing this means she received it voluntarily and for cosmetic purposes. She also has scarring on one of her feet, like it had been impaled, but there are no other physical markers. She has a SLIGHTLY irregular heartbeat but it’s not irregular enough that I think she’s in immediate danger. I’m keeping an eye on it, of course, but for now I’m not immediately concerned.”

                “And the young man?”

                “Well, he has a few nasty scars, including an old stab wound on the small of his back but he also has a few very small ones on his fingers, consistent with minor accidents involving cutting implements like a chef’s knife or whittling tools – he’s probably learned a trade of some sort,” said Gala. “This all tells me two things. One, they didn’t grow up in this environment – the tattoo on the young lady and evidence of the young man learning a trade are evidence that at some point they were both living quote-unquote ‘normal lives’. But the other scars tell a different story. We’re dealing with people who have seen combat – pirates, Marines, or bounty hunters most likely. I have no way of knowing which.”

                “Your guess is as good as mine – you know we don’t get a lot of any of those around here anymore,” said Mac. He frowned as he poured their tea. “That’s one thing that kind of stinks about not being associated with the World Government anymore – I don’t have access to wanted posters or missing persons files so if things like this DO happen I don’t know who or what I’m dealing with.”

                “It isn’t like we’re not taken care of,” said Gala.

                Mac sighed, leaning his head back. “That’s true . . .”

                “If they’re pirates, they’re in no shape to hurt this island. And there’s no guarantee they would anyways – not all pirates are monsters,” said Gala, a smile on his face. He sighed and stood. “I’d like to request you get some sleep for a few hours. I’m going to go as long as I can, but then I’m going to ask you to watch them again while I get some rest.”

                “Of course,” said Mac. That made sense – if Gala was overtired he might do something stupid. The two men took their tea, drank it quickly, and stood to head upstairs, but not before Mac made sure all of the ground level doors were locked – he didn’t want anyone wandering in, innocent villager or malicious hunter alike.

 

                Ria wasn’t sure what to tell her girls.

                _I wasn’t supposed to be out for so long – just an hour, really. That turned into several hours. This mess right here . . . oh dear._ She was sitting on the couch in the two bedroom apartment above her shop, a toddler on either side of her displaying varying reactions to her extended absence. Wendy, her older, was mad. Sundae, the younger, was hanging onto her arm and crying up a storm.

                She put her arm around Wendy’s shoulder. “I had a good reason for being delayed. I’m sorry you two had to wait, but something happened at Mr. Mayor’s house and he needed my help for a little bit,” she said quietly. She closed her eyes. “Mr. Mayor doesn’t want everyone around town talking about it yet, but some sick people washed up on shore this morning.”

                Wendy’s scowl softened, and Sundae stopped crying, wiping her eyes. “Sick?” Wendy asked.

                “Do their tummies hurt?” asked Sundae.

                “It’s . . . different,” said Ria. “But Mr. Mayor was waiting for Dr. Gala when I showed up. And he needed my help until the real doctor could get there. Then your Uncle Braeburn and I had to make sure there wasn’t anyone else, and then I came home to you two.” She felt her stomach churn and held her girls closer. “They’re very sick. Very, very sick.”

                “Did Dr. Gala get there?” asked Wendy.

                “If he got there then he’ll fix them so it’ll be okay, Mommy,” said Sundae.

                _I don’t think this is something Gala can fix that easy-_

“I KNOW!” Wendy yelled.

                Ria turned to the older twin. “Inside voice, Wendy!” she said.

                “We gotta draw pictures!” Wendy squirmed away and darted in the general direction of their bedroom. Sundae nodded and agreed, following her sister while Ria watched in bewilderment. She followed them into the room, where Wendy had already put paper on their table and Sundae was looking for crayons.

                “What are you two doing?” she asked.

                “Remember when Mr. Mayor’s Mommy got sick and we drew her pictures? She got better, so if these people are REALLY sick we’re gonna have to draw a LOT of pictures,” said Wendy. She looked at the box of crayons Sundae brought over and frowned. “I hope we have enough crayons, Sundae.” She looked at her mother. “Can we use some of your colored pencils if we run out, Mommy?”

                Ria covered her mouth with her hand. She closed her eyes. “Of course you can.”

 

                In the middle of the second day, Braeburn headed out for a short bit to get food for Gala and Mac (and maybe the patients, if there was anything for them there) from the Cider Mug. Gala and Mac both had favorite foods there, and besides, Braeburn had a different errand he needed to run there anyways – one he wasn’t terribly looking forward to.

                The Cider Mug was one of the few hang out spots on the island. During the afternoon and early evening, it was a small restaurant that did okay business. People would go there sometimes during breaks for a quick bite to eat, or have larger, longer meals if they needed to discuss something business related. Couples occasionally had dates there. But where the establishment really shined was its later evening services – they still served food (well, some food, mostly booze), but they also played music or hosted musicians to play live so people could dance and unwind after a long day.

                During his spare time (which he had an inordinate amount of – the blacksmith’s forge was busy enough to keep food on his table but not busy enough to keep him busy even twenty hours a week sometimes), Braeburn was in a band that played at the Cider Mug. It consisted of others who had enough spare time on their hands to practice and perform and in his opinion they were pretty good.

                Except that their vocalist, Deltana, was a whiny prima donna who sometimes made what they did a nightmare. Maybe Darryl Gravenstein had missed a note or Jimmy Grieve had shown off too much during a drum solo – she complained about it. How dare the guitarist make a mistake like any other human being and how dare their drummer do what he loved best when it took away from her performance?

                That was only part of it. Deltana regularly missed practices (claiming she didn’t need to practice like the rest of them did when, really, Deltana was slightly above average at best and had only gotten into the band because no one else seemed interested) and had shown up blitzed to three performances over the last month, culminating on her barfing, mid show, all over poor Mac.. The rest of the band voted her out and decided to take a hiatus to calm down, clear their heads, and then see what they could do to hunt down someone who didn’t make something they did for fun and a little extra money a completely miserable experience.

                Braeburn had been elected to tell Cliff Haralson about their situation. It wasn’t that he expected the restaurant owner to be mad or angry, but it still wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. They all loved performing and talking to Haralson would be finalizing their break and meaning no, they would not be practicing together or having jam sessions for a while.

                Then again, the sense of dread he’d been feeling over this ‘discussion’ had dwindled because what was going on at the mayor’s house had put the whole situation into perspective for him. Their situation could have been a hell of a lot worse. It wasn’t like they were breaking up forever – they had picked a date to get back together and start brainstorming their next move. None of them were lying unconscious in the mayor’s house after going through some sort of torture that probably made anything Deltana could have done seem like a minor annoyance.

                _And then there’s . . ._ Braeburn clenched his eyes shut. His heart pained at the thought, and he shuddered where he stood. It always hurt to think about that, and he needed a moment to compose himself. _Right._ _There’s nothing I can do about that. Not anymore. And even if I could do something about it, I probably shouldn’t._ Still shaky but able to go forward with what he had to do, Braeburn buried that burden as deep as he could and made the rest of the walk to the Cider Mug.

                As he put his hand on the door to the restaurant, Braeburn paused. It seemed so stupid now. Yes, Deltana was a bitch and he was glad to be rid of her from the band but he couldn’t help but feel indifferent to the situation anymore. He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t matter. Fuck Deltana. Her bullshit was behind him and he had way more important things to do now. He was going to do what he could to help the drifters get better and get them back on their feet because that was a way better use of him time then stewing about a vocalist who sometimes didn’t wear underwear with her miniskirts.

 

                After two days of taking turns keeping an eye on their patients, Gala said it looked like they were finally out of the woods and it was only a matter of time before they truly woke up. Mac, Braeburn, and Cobbler were the only ones who had stayed the whole time to support the doctor. Ria mostly stayed away for the sake of her daughters (which was understandable, especially considering their young age), but had stopped by several times with food for the makeshift hospital staff the doctor had to deal with. Perhaps the most important thing she brought, however, was four sets of pajamas – for each patients – so they could wear something other than the ragged hospital-gown shirts they’d been wearing.

                Braeburn and Cobbler mostly kept watch or ran errands for Gala. Sometimes they needed to turn someone looking for Mac away, the blacksmith explaining that an emergency had cropped up and the mayor was not in a position to see anyone (which, even when he wasn’t helping was true – he was something of a nervous wreck over the whole situation as time wore on).

                However, two mornings after they had been found they were both sleeping peacefully, each lying on their side or belly with the blankets wrapped around them as they each subconsciously saw fit. Both were mumbling things in their sleep, but some of the mumblings seemed neutral or positive – names, foods, and otherwise lighthearted nonsense occasionally slipped from their lips. 

                “Gala, if they’re in as good as you say they are you need to go home and get some rest,” said Mac. Gala wanted to protest, but the mayor was right – it wouldn’t be much longer before his medical knowledge would be rendered useless by a lack of sleep. He told Mac to call him if he needed anything, although Braeburn suggested calling in the mayor’s mother if something happened right away.

                “I know you don’t like your mom going through the snow by herself, but she’s the only other person on their island with ANY kind of medical knowledge – Gala’s worse than useless to them if he doesn’t get any sleep,” said Braeburn. “C’mon, Gala, I’ll walk you home so you don’t take a nap in the snow.”

                Gala nodded dumbly. “They’re out of the woods . . . they’re out of the woods . . .”

                Braeburn put an arm around the doctor’s shoulder, quietly agreeing with him as he led the other man towards the door. He turned to the mayor, nodded and smiled, and mouthed that everything was going to work itself out fine at this point. Mac smiled back, grateful that things were looking up but still worried for the sleeping lost souls upstairs.

                As Mac watched the blacksmith and the doctor head towards the village, their patients woke up.


	2. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0543 and 0544 wake up in a simple house and realize their luck has finally changed.

                Warm.

                It was a sensation 0543 hadn’t known for a long time. Even when she and 0544 held each other at night, even with scratchy blankets, it only did so much in the holding cell. There was always a chill. She didn’t know if it was actually cold in there, or if it was just the hopelessness of their situation escalating as each day passed with no sign of rescue or chance to escape.

                But as she started to wake up, 0543 felt like she was wrapped in warmth. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing in her world was that warm anymore. The scientists wouldn’t do anything to make her or 0544 comfortable – alive, yes, but comfort was only offered if it was a necessity. Another hallucination? Another experiment? She whimpered.

                _Wait._

0543 thought for a moment. There had been a change in their situation, hadn’t there? She’d fallen through the examination table, and 0544 could turn into a fox – somehow, there were two Devil Fruit powers inside each of them. It made no sense, but it had given them a glimmer of hope – a chance to escape. And they ran and hid through the ship for hours. Even if they couldn’t find dry land, even if they were just escaping to their own deaths, they wanted to get away and be pirates one last time, even if their ship was a lifeboat and the stormy weather would take them out in second.

                But they’d done it. They’d gotten away from him. Which meant . . .

                _We’re dead. He can’t hurt us anymore._

                But somehow this didn’t seem like death. She still felt alive. She was breathing. She was pretty sure her heart was beating. Whatever she was, wherever she was, she wasn’t dead. Her eyes widened. What did that mean? How could they still be alive? She shuddered. _No . . . don’t tell me that man found us . . . please . . ._

She moved her hand.

                0543 had free range of motion. She put her hand to her neck – no shock collar. She closed her eyes. If Tesla – that horrible man – had gotten to them she would have been bound in so much seastone she might not have the energy to breathe, not with her newfound ability to pass through solid objects. But there was warmth. There were no restraints. Wherever she was, it wasn’t in the clutches of that person.

                0543 shifted, and felt fabric around her – soft fabric. They were bed sheets and a blanket – a good blanket, not the scratchy pieces of shit that man provided them with if he even bothered to give them anything. There was a pillow under her head – a soft, fluffed pillow with a clean smelling pillow case.

                She opened her eyes and saw pale green walls and a dark brown chest of drawers. The sheets were yellow and the blanket – an old, well loved quilt – was pale blue. There were pale green curtains, drawn, but she nearly burst into tears. There was a glow around the curtains, a glow she hadn’t seen for over a year.

                _The sun._

                0543 struggled to sit up. Her body was aching and screaming at her. She wasn’t sure why. She didn’t know long she’d been out, or maybe the stress of the second Devil Fruit power showing up had taken a stronger toll on her body than she’d realized – hell, maybe the energy they’d had to escape had been adrenaline and with the sense of danger gone she had no more strength to rely on.

                “You’re awake . . .”

                0543 struggled to turn over and saw 0544, just as weak and as bald and as skinny and pale and pathetic as she was, lying in a bed a few feet away from her. He was looking over at her, one arm reaching out desperately to touch her. His eyes were bagged and heavy, but his mouth was pulled into a weak grin. He was okay, too, and he was happy to see she was awake.

                0543 reached out to touch 0544, their fingertips brushing before their arms dropped. She clenched her eyes closed and pulled her lips into a weak grin just like 0544’s. This wasn’t Tesla’s ship. This wasn’t a hallucination or a dream. She felt herself starting to cry. “Please, say this is real. Please. Tell me it’s real.”

                “It’s real.”

                That was when 0543 really started to get what was around her. Did her eyes and skin deceive her, but was she wearing pajamas?! She struggled to roll onto her back. The ceiling above her looked so . . . normal. There were light fixtures on the walls, and the nightstand, and the chest of drawers and the windows covered with curtains and the suggestion of sunlight . . . it was a bedroom - a real bedroom, in a real house.

                “We’re in a house,” she said, her voice scratched and dry. She watched 0544 stumble out of the bed he was in – sensing what he was doing, 0543 wiggled over to let him lie down with her. He was wearing pajamas, too – soft blue ones that matched her soft pink ones. They had a sort of “new clothing” feeling to them, which was a shock – she was pretty sure it had been well over a year before she’d had anything new (all of the gowns Tesla had given then were thin and worn – they hadn’t been the first people to wear them).

                0544 settled in next to her. There was no physical need for it (the bed was plenty warm), but after so many months of holding each other at night or when they were scared or lonely, it seemed like the natural thing to do, and neither of them gave it a second thought. Of course they were going to hold each other now. He pulled himself closer to her, resting the back of his hand against her cheek.

                0543 closed her eyes and clung to the front of 0544’s pajama top. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t think she had any tears left in her. If this was some kind of cruel dream, she wanted to die before she woke up. This was too real. It felt warm and safe and she didn’t care that she didn’t know whose house this was because they had to be better than Tesla. Maybe they would get to eat real food, or maybe even see the sun for the first time in a year.

                It was just a normal house, but in that moment, it was paradise.

 

                Mac slipped into the room where his two charges were staying and nearly dropped his tray when he saw the young man’s bed was empty. He nearly panicked, wondering where he’d run off to (never mind _where_ , _how_ he could have run off), until he saw he was lying fast asleep in the other bed with his companion. They were huddled close, holding each other as they slept. Mac stepped closer. They looked a little happier, and their cheeks were shiny and wet – they’d been crying.

                _They must be close - I wonder what their relationship is?_ Although they were both pale, skinny, and bald, Mac decided their facial structure was too different for them to be blood related – at least, not close blood relatives. There was a little bit of hair on their heads – orange on the young lady, and blonde on the young man, although the young men had black, curling eyebrows just starting to grow back in.

                Cobbler poked his head in and woofed. Mac hissed at him to go away – the big black dog whimpered and retreated. He felt bad sending the poor animal away, but he didn’t want to disturb them now that they were sleeping peacefully. After the time they’d had, he wanted them to get sleep. This was probably the first they’d really been resting . . . well.

                Mac sat down on the young man’s bed, watching them for a little bit. It seemed Gala was right and the worst of it was probably over, but Mac was very worried for what would happen when they regained consciousness. Would they be sane? Civilized? Or had they been locked up or whatever it was that had happened to them for so long that they’d lost their sense of themselves and their humanity?

                If they had . . . then what?

                Maybe the next time _he_ came through, _he’d_ know what to do.

                Mac stood up; he thought he should get them something to eat in case they woke up soon.

 

                They laid there for a few hours, quietly enjoying their new environment. It was quiet, but there were no sounds of muttering scientists or medical equipment to be heard. The curtains were drawn, but slivers of sunlight were peeking through the curtains. 0544 wept a little when he saw those bits of sunlight – he knew he’d missed the sun while he was captive but he didn’t realize how badly it was missed until he saw it. He watched the spots of light on the wall contently.

                They were beautiful.

                The more time passed, the more real the room became. They dozed off and woke up several times, so they knew it wasn’t a dream, and everything felt real. At one point 0544 realized he smelled some kind of soap – someone had given them some kind of bath, but they’d used just a regular bar of soap, not the antiseptic medicinal crap Tesla had his crew use on them. Combined with the pajamas and the beds, it was clear that whoever was doing this had nothing to do with Tesla.

                Someone gave a shit about them for the first time in a year.

                There was the sound of a door opening. 0544 felt his back tense up and turned to look to see who was coming into their sanctuary, but the man who walked through wasn’t Tesla or Curie or one of the other members of their crew. It was a middle aged man with dark brown hair and a pair of granny glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. He was carrying a tray with two tall glasses of water and two plates of crackers. The man spotted him looking at him, and the relief that washed over him was comforting.

                “I was wondering when the two of you were going to wake up,” he said with a smile. Balancing the tray on one hand, he opened up a tray table and set it down. 0544 sat up and sensed 0543 sitting up behind him. His muscles were screaming but his stomach yelled louder. Crackers and water wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was food. The man paused. “You . . . well, all right,” he said, scratching his head as he looked at 0544’s changed position.

                0544 and 0543 continued to stare at him. They weren’t sure what to do. But even if the water was arsenic and the crackers were anthrax, they’d drink and eat. The man handed them the water first, and then the crackers, which they quickly drank and started to eat. 0544 gasped – he hadn’t had cold water in a year. Whatever Tesla gave them was always luke warm.

                Sitting down on what had been 0544’s bed, the man folded his hands and watched them eat, evaluating them. They were quickly downing the crackers, clearly hungry and clearly not caring how many crumbs they got on the beds. “My dog found the two of you a couple of days and wouldn’t stop barking until I came to see. Thank God the blacksmith was with me or else I don’t know how we would have gotten you back here.”

                They stared at him oddly. He raised his hands in defense. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

                0543 and 0544 looked at each other. Yes, it seemed that way, didn’t it?

                The man frowned. “Can you speak?” he asked.

                0543 urged 0544 to say something. “Yes,” he said, but his voice was still dry.

                The man frowned. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk yet, your voice sounds a little hoarse – at the very least I think you two are going to need some more water. I’ll be back, all right?” The pair slowly nodded, still in disbelief that this kind man and this house were even real. The man swallowed nervously, straightened his collar, and started to leave. But as he got to the door, and he turned and smiled warmly. “By the way, my name is Mac – I’m the mayor of Apple Island.”

 

                Mac returned some time later with the promised pitcher of ice water, more crackers, and slices of apples. He was also accompanied by a large black dog who put his front paws on the edge of the bed next to the young man and woofed. The mayor winced – he was going to scare them or upset them. “Cobbler!” Mac said sternly.

                The dog ignored him, instead paying attention to the two people scratching him behind the ears. They almost looked like they were smiling, and Cobbler was loving every second of it. The mayor decided to let the dog win this one – if petting him was going to make these people relaxed or content or whatever, so be it. They were both softly talking to Cobbler, and Cobbler had his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he looked excitedly between the two, his tail wagging behind him.

But in a moment things quieted, and Mac noticed the pair’s eyes had locked onto the new plate of food – they were only absently scratching Cobbler now. “Hungry again?” he said. They looked up at him and nodded. Mac smiled, passing the plate to them and putting the pitcher on the nightstand – Cobbler moved out of the way and laid down on the floor by their bed. The pair went straight for the apples and started crying as they chewed on the white flesh. He blinked in surprise. “Tears? For apples?” he said.

                The girl wiped the tears away. “No one’s been this nice to us for a long time,” she said.

                Mac felt his heart pain. _Oh God, giving them sliced apples is the nicest thing someone’s done for them in a long time?_ He wasn’t sure what to say for a few moments, watching them eat and occasionally steal glances at each other, smiling over the fruit. It was strangely satisfying to watch them, knowing that they were getting that much joy out of his simple gesture.

                Granted, this was Apple Island. Apples were by far their most plentiful crop (a full third of the island’s land was JUST apple orchards). Here, eating apples or making your living from apples was almost as common as breathing. There were always plenty to go around no matter what the season and it was only newcomers who might be excited over the crop, and newcomers were very rare these days.

                He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. They looked at him for an answer, and he finally cleared his throat and settled on a response. “Well, you can have as many apples as your want – it’s what our town does best. Grow apples. My mother makes a fantastic apple pie but the doctor says that you two probably shouldn’t have any spicy foods for a while.”

                The word “doctor” caused his charges to stop eating, freeze, and stare at him in horror. Mac was surprised by their sudden reaction. Didn’t they need to see the doctor so he could make sure they were healthy? Certainly they were awake and that was a good sign but God only knew what diseases the two may have contracted.

                Then again, what they were wearing when he found them were hospital gowns. . .

                He tried to backpedal. “Dr. Gala is a good man – he’s a very talented doctor and wouldn’t harm any of his patients. He only wants to make you better,” he said slowly. The two exchanged nervous looks, and Mac wasn’t sure if they were going to agree to getting help from Gala. However, Mac knew that regardless of their feelings, they needed to be looked at again. As they went back to their apple slices, Mac decided that maybe it was time for a subject change – for the moment, at least. “What are you names?”

                “0544,” the young man said, licking the juice from the apples off his fingers.

                “0543,” the girl responded, absently biting one of the slices.

                Mac blinked. _Numbers?_ He had a horrible feeling in his stomach. People didn’t name their children numbers. They had names. _Oh God this is getting even worse._ He swallowed and tried to straighten his tie. “Those . . . those can’t be your real names. Is that really what your parents called you?”

                Cobbler whined and pushed his nose into the young lady’s knee.

                The young man froze and looked at the girl. “Oh God,” he said. He turned to Mac. “I . . . my name . . . my name . . .” He shuddered, his eyes widening. The young woman looked at her companion with a quivering bottom lip. He opened his mouth, a sound almost coming out, but he stopped, seeming to remember something horrible before shutting his mouth.

                Mac felt his heart breaking again. _They have names but they’re afraid to say them. But why?_ He closed his eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll think of something. I promise.” He looked between the two of them. “Those are not your names, yes?” The pair hesitated, but slowly nodded. “Okay. That’s all I needed to know. We’ll find a way to fix this. All right?”

                “I don’t know if we can . . .” said the young woman. She looked frustrated and ready to cry.

                “Remember – I’m the mayor of this island. As long as you’re on this island it is my job and honor to make you comfortable and happy. I will figure out SOMETHING,” he said. His charges didn’t seem to believe him, but Mac was certain there was something he could. Or, if there wasn’t anything he himself could do, maybe Gala could do something for them. He turned to his dog. “Cobbler, keep an eye on them, okay boy?”

                Cobbler barked in agreement and turned his attention back to his patients for more attention.


	3. Withdrawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0543 and 0544 start to get sick and wonder if they're dying from their extra Devil Fruit abilities.

                It had been no more than ten minutes since Mac had last excused himself that 0543 started to feel ill. This shouldn’t have surprised her – she’d downed the food the nice man had given them rather quickly, and this was after a year of living on nothing but the mushy stuff the scientists gave them. Of course her stomach wasn’t used to real food anymore.

                She found a wastebasket to vomit into. But that didn’t solve the problem.

                But it seemed like it was maybe more than that. It was too hot, and she still felt nauseous, and everything just felt terrible in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. She felt tense and anxious. Her body started to tremble. She was surprised 0544 hadn’t said anything, but then noticed he was lying next to her, looking just as sick as she was and trembling as well.

                She clenched her eyes shut, thinking over everything that had happened to them, and felt cold for a moment as a heavy realization weighed on her heart. _We knew that if we escaped we might be escaping to our deaths. But, considering what Tesla’s done to us . . . we may have not been long for the world no matter where we were. “_ They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” she said, clinging to her companion.

                0544, who was also feeling very overheated and uncomfortable grunted in response.

                “The Devil Fruits – they’re killing us. We’re dying,” she said.

                “Damn it,” he responded. He reached for her hand and grabbed it. “You think so?”

                “Tesla was wrong – he was wrong. He was wrong. We’re still gonna die.”

                0544 wiped some of the hair from her face. “We don’t know that.”

                “He may as well had been feeding us poison this whole time, right?”

                0544 wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure he could.

 

                Mac came back to see that his charges were asleep again. He smiled for a brief moment, thinking they were resting, but then he realized both were shuddering. _Perhaps they’re cold? Doesn’t feel too bad in here, but I suppose where they’re so skinny . . ._ Mac stepped into the room, thinking about draping the blankets over them to warm them up a bit.

                Then he realized they were both breathing heavily, their brows dripping with sweat.

                He paled. _Gala needs to get here RIGHT NOW._ He knew the doctor should be at least on his way by now, but there was a sudden sense of urgency to see the man as soon as possible. He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that his friend was on his way to the house. He was afraid to leave the room, though – what if something happened? He couldn’t leave them alone, could he?

                The mayor heard a knocking on his door. _It’s either Gala or Braeburn. If it’s Gala, great. If it’s Braeburn. . . not so great._ Mac started to run towards the stairs but felt a sharp pain in his bad knee and nearly doubled over in pain. He gritted his teeth together. He’d been ignoring the old injury ever since the drifters showed up, but it wasn’t going to be ignored any longer. He hobbled out of the guest room and towards the stairs, where he saw Gala coming up.

                “Mac!” The doctor’s eyes were wide and he looked concerned as he hurried up the stairs and knelt down by the mayor. “I’m sorry, I just let myself in but are you all right? What did you do to your knee?”

                “I’m not the one you need to worry about – something is wrong with your patients,” Mac said. He explained that “0543” and “0544” had woken up and moved around a bit but were now sweating bullets and having trouble breathing. Gala listened and nodded as he led the mayor back into the guest room, sat him down in a chair, and then went to look at his patients.

                “Why did you use the numbers on their necks? Don’t tell me those are their names,” said Gala.

                “Yes and no,” said Mac, rubbing his knee to try and make the pain stop. “I am confident they have real names but for some reason they won’t say them and I don’t know why. It was like they were afraid to.”

                Gala shook his head. “I’ll be looking into that when they wake up again.”

                The mayor frowned at the doctor. “I don’t think they like doctors,” said Mac.

                The doctor looked pensive, trying to figure out what was wrong with his patients. “That’s got to say a lot, I just wish I knew what. Let me help you to your room – try to lie down and get some rest. Let me worry about my patients. All right? I’m going to look over their chairs again and try to figure out what’s going on here.”

 

                0544 woke up back in the other bed still feeling like shit and, more importantly, away from 0543. He looked at where she was resting, breathing heavily as her body fought to stay alive. He felt himself shudder, bolting upright to start gagging. Someone handed him a bucket, but all he could do was dry heave. Everything Mac had fed them had come back up.

                “Breathe.”

                0544 turned his head to see a man with a stethoscope around his neck looking at him warmly. _Doctor._ He just stared at him blankly . _I know this man isn’t one of the scientists. I know that – he seems different. So why am I having trouble moving?_ 0544 soon felt another surge of retching and dipped his head over the bucket, spitting and sputtering.

                The doctor man started to rub his back, and he tensed up, dropping the bucket and pushing himself away from. He looked at him with wider eyes. The doctor looked at him sadly and put his hands in his lap. 0544 almost relaxed, but still felt his hands twitching. It was quiet for several minutes, the two staring at each other while 0543 slept uneasily in the next bed.

                “It’s okay. I don’t bite,” the other man said quietly and soothingly, much in the way a person might talk to a scared animal or a child. It made 0544 want to lash out – he was not an animal, Devil Fruit or no Devil Fruit. He glowered, snarling at the doctor. _I am not an animal, I am not an animal, I am NOT an ANIMAL._

                He felt his body begin to shift and was soon snarling at him in his half-fox, half human body.

                The transformation took the doctor aback and he moved away. “All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up defensively. 0544 calmed, but looking down at his body made him want to start crying. He forced himself to take his human form again, then wished he hadn’t, because fur probably hid tears better than skin.

                _Why can’t we control our powers? I didn’t want to shift into my fox body. So why . . ._

                The man stood there for several moments, then knelt down before him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward. I just want to help you,” he said. 0544 looked away – he didn’t want to be crying in front of this man. “I know you’re been though something awful. I can see it. In your bodies, your behavior . . . I’m here because I want to make you better.”

                0544 was skeptical. “How can you possibly help us? We’re dying.”

                “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

                0544 scoffed. This doctor had no idea what the scientists had done them (even HE wasn’t sure what they did – or at the very least, he didn’t know HOW they did it). “What’s been done to us can’t be fixed,” he said. He turned away. “I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you but it’s true.”

                The doctor was quiet for several moments, trying to evaluate what he’d said. He sighed and moved to sit in a chair between the beds. “Well then, tell me what was done to you,” he said. He crossed his legs. “I don’t know where the two of you came from, but I don’t think you did this to yourselves. Someone’s been hurting you. How did they hurt you?”

                0544 stared. It sounded crazy. He didn’t think the doctor would believe him.

                “All right, let’s start again,” he said. He held out his hand. “My name is Dr. Robert Gala. Call me whatever you’d like – most people just call me ‘Gala’. Excluding a few midwives and a handful of nurses, I’m the only person with medical knowledge on the island. If there’s a way to fix you, I’m the best equipped to do it.”

                The drifter looked away. “I can’t say my name,” 0544 said in response.

                Gala frowned. “Mac mentioned that. Why?”

                He closed his eyes and clenched his fists around the quilt. “They did something. They kept hurting us whenever they said our names or we tried to use them. I don’t think they’re here anymore, but I can’t . . . I don’t know why.” He started to shake, his body trembling. Gala handed him a bucket and he dry heaved into his, coughing and spitting and ready to cry.

                “Conditioning,” said Gala. “It’s the process of reinforcing good behavior or punishing bad behavior. That’s what was done to you. I can fix it, but I would need to know your names,” he said. Gala turned to 0543, who was still sleeping – not restfully, but definitely sleeping. “Can you tell me her name? And then she can tell me yours?”

                “No. They did it for both of our names to both of us,” he said, putting the bucket down.

                “Can you tell me who ‘they’ are?” asked Gala. “Was it the World Government? Pirates?”

                “Pirates – kind of,” said 0544. He swallowed. “Thomas Tesla.”

                Gala’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Thomas Tesla!?”

                0544 shuddered. “So you’ve heard of him.”

                Gala put his head in his hands. “Bastard. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him before. Of course that makes sense – fits his M.O. perfectively,” he said. “I feel like an idiot for not thinking of him before. Although, then again, I’ve never heard of any survivors before – you and your friend are very, very lucky.”

                0544 shook his head. “He had us a long time.”

                “How long?”

                His eyes started to well with tears. “A year.” 0544 nearly lost it and started telling Gala about the details of their living conditions – the holding cell, the experiments, their punishments – especially the shock collars and the Tank – and the way they were treated. He didn’t mention they were pirates – maybe Gala already knew Tesla targeted pirates, but if he didn’t he was afraid of what the doctor might do if he knew.

                Gala patiently listened, his eyes filled with horror but his head nodding along in understanding. The doctor was listening to him, trying to figure out what was making them sick and giving him a sympathetic ear to vent to. It was exactly what they needed in a doctor – not the harsh, borderline abusive treatment of the old women or the panicky shrieking of the little reindeer.

                0544’s heart pained at the memory. _Chopper . . ._

                “It’s all right. Continue,” said Gala. “I’m listening.”

                “The worst thing he did was the very first day he had us,” 0544 said. He paused, trying to regain his composure. “He had us strapped into chairs and he had Devil Fruits. He forced our mouths open and made up each take a bite.” Gala stared in horror. “We thought, well, maybe he was just experimenting on Devil Fruit users, but that wasn’t it at all.”

                “Forcing people to eat Devil Fruits is . . . that’s serious,” said Gala, his eyes wide in disbelief. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “But none of that is enough to be killing you.” He cleared his throat. “I have no doubts that you’re both traumatized. None. And I won’t trivialize the horrors you’ve gone through. But even the way it happened, Devil Fruit consumption is far from lethal. Not unless you’ve already eaten one.”

                “That’s why we’re dying,” said 0544. He closed his eyes, covering his mouth. “We don’t know what he did but someone there are two powers in each other us. He must’ve slipped them into our food or something.” He felt his eyes start to water. “It’s how we got away from him and we were okay for a little while but now it’s making us sick and we’re going to die.”

                Gala was on his feet, his hands on his shoulders. 0544 looked at him in confusion. The doctor gave him a small smile. “I don’t think you’re dying. I don’t know what is happening to you, or how he did it, but I know for a fact that the Devil Fruits aren’t what’s making you sick right now. You don’t have Devil Fruit poisoning.”

                0544 was about to go on but was staring at the doctor in confusion. “What?”

                “Devil Fruit poisoning is accompanied by discoloration of the skin – usually purple or blue – and severe bloating. The two of you are skinny and pale. Whatever’s making you sick isn’t related to Devil Fruits,” said Gala. Before 0544 could question him any further, 0543 started to wake up, making whimpering noises as she shuffled into a sitting position. Gala turned, smiled, and waved. “Good morning, sunshine!”

                0543 blinked. “Who the fuck are you?”

                “He’s a doctor – he knows Mac,” said 0544. “He says we aren’t sick from the Devil Fruits.”

                “Then what’s making us sick?” she asked. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled to 0544’s bed, taking a seat next to him. “If it’s not that then why are we so sick right now? What else could be doing this?” She turned to 0544, fear and worry in her eyes. She was tired of not knowing what was wrong with them and what was happening to them. 0544 couldn’t blame her for that.

                “He told me you were victims of the Science Pirates and he had you for a year. He went into some detail about what he did you, but so far we can’t figure out why you’re not feeling good right now. What I do know is that, as far as I can tell, you aren’t dealing with anything lethal. So, once I get you into good enough shape to travel, we’ll see what we can do about getting you back to your island. I’m sure your friends and family are probably worried sick about you.”

                _Island?_ 0544 thought. He kept his epiphany to himself. _So Gala DOESN’T know that Tesla goes after pirates. He thinks we’re villagers from some random island on the Grand Line that got attacked by the Science Pirates – he has no idea that we’re pirates, too._ He couldn’t tell if 0543 picked up on this as well, but squeezed her hand for comfort.

                “All right. We’ll get you home when you can, but for now let’s solve the immediate problem,” said Gala. Neither had a response – 0544 closed his eyes and 0543 started rubbing the inside of her elbow. The doctor watched her in interest, mouthing something to himself, then paused as a look of realization lit up on his face. He turned and looked at 0544. “You said that they were giving your injections and pills on a regular basis?”

                “Yeah. Daily,” said 0544. His eyes snapped open. “Oh, shit. I think _I_ know what’s making us sick.”

                0543 looked at her companion and the doctor in confusion. “What?”

                “Your bodies developed a chemical dependence on whatever it is the scientists were giving you. Sometimes it can take a few days for your body to react to the sudden absence of a chemical it’s become dependant on, but this is withdrawal,” said Gala. “Everything I’m seeing can be explained by it. Whatever he was giving you is still in your system – for how long or how much I can’t say – but your body is looking for more of it.”

                That news didn’t sit well with 0543. “So he made us drug addicts? We’re JUNKIES?” asked the young woman. She looked like she was about to cry, but her companion wrapped his arms around her, trying to soothe her. “I didn’t . . . oh God . . . I didn’t want them . . . it’s not fair. . .” The young man started to rub her back as she cried into his shoulder.

                “It’s okay, we’re going to get through it. If I survived my cigarette withdrawal you and I will get through this, okay?” he said soothingly. “We’re not going to die – we just have to get through the next couple of days and things we be a lot better. We’ll be able to eat without throwing up, and we won’t be shaking and shivering, and it’ll all be another bad memory.”

                Gala was surprised to find himself smiling at the pair. The young man seemed so sure that they were going to get through it, and his companion was nodding along, trusting what he was telling her. It was sweet. The young man laid down with the young woman, continuing to talk softly to her as he brushed his hand against her face and told her about all the things they were going to do when they got better.


	4. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young man and the young woman enjoy an afternoon with a book of poetry before being interrupted.

                Gala wasn’t able to completely suppress their symptoms, but he gave them some herbal teas that helped dull their nausea to the point where they were able to keep down the food they were given. They were a little disappointed when their diet changed to milder foods, but the doctor promised them both he would buy them the most decadent food on the island when their stomachs were able to handle it for a whole week.

                And the mild foods Gala prescribed weren’t terrible – mostly things like rice and some overcooked vegetables, but it was still better than the slop Tesla gave them. If they wanted seconds they could have it, and the tea was surprisingly sweet. Most of all, what they were eating and drinking were things they could recognize as real food.

                The doctor also gave them two small tubs of lotion. One was supposed to help reduce the appearance of the scars on the backs of their necks, which they applied to each other to make sure they got everything. The other was regular lotion, since their skin was dry and flaky, and even though the young man wasn’t fond of the floral smell, it made them both feel a little better.

                They still felt sick, but little by little things were starting to get better.

                Except for their names.

                Without knowing what their names were, Gala wasn’t sure how to remove the psychological block the scientist had laid. For the time being, they were stuck without names. Mac and Gala tried to find a good middle ground with “young lady” and “young man” (they refused to use the numbers), which was better than the numbers, but still not the names they so desperately wanted to hear.

                The names they so desperately wanted to say.

                Mac let them open the curtains in their room (the man was surprised they even felt they had to ask), and for the first time in a long time they saw the light of day. The mayor explained their island had four varied seasons, a rarity on the Grand Line, but he’d heard of islands having seasons that changed by the week. Currently, it was winter and there wasn’t much to see but the snow, but they could see trees and a town. Sometimes there would be smoke coming from the town, and it was obvious someone was cooking or baking or trying to stay warm.

                It was a normal island with a normal town.

                Gala did fill them in on a couple of things. First, he explained that he was going to keep their torturer’s identity under wraps for the time being – even Mac wasn’t going to be told who had been tormenting them. “I’m going to let the two of you decide when you want to talk about and it with whom you want to talk to,” he said kindly.

                There was one other thing he mentioned. “I don’t want to stop you from getting fresh air – I’m going to strongly suggest getting it, actually, but for now I think for now the trips should be short and close by. It’s winter here now and prolonged exposure to the cold probably isn’t the best for you. Once you’ve gotten better and the weather gets a little warmer, run around the island to your hearts’ desires.”

                The young man and the young lady nodded. It sounded reasonable enough.

 

                The second day they were conscious the young man and the young lady explored the mayor’s house a little more in depth. Mostly this was limited to the top floor. They knew where the bathroom was already (directly across from their guest room and next to Mac’s master bedroom), there were other things to be found on the second floor as well.

                Most notably, a library.

                It wasn’t an enormous room or anything – maybe the size of a large bedroom, but the walls were floor to ceiling book shelves with a desk by the window and two big chairs and a loveseat to sit and read in. The young woman went to get the mayor’s permission to explore the library which, once again, the mayor was surprised they felt the need to ask.

                “Feel free,” he said. He smiled at the delight that had lit up on her face.

                “I forgot what a book felt like,” said the young man. He was holding a tome filled with adventure stories. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “It smells like dust and old paper and leather. It feels heavy.” He started flipping through the pages. “Illustrations of brave men and women battling Sea Kings and monsters, stories about discovering legends and romance . . . I didn’t read enough.”

                The young lady smiled. Of course he was going to enjoy a book about finding hidden legends. She herself had picked up a book on stylistic cartography (“Calligraphy for Cartographers: Making Maps Lovely and Legible”) and realized that no matter how much the scientists had tried to strip them of everything that made them who they were, there were two things they hadn’t even been able to touch.

                The young man was still going to find the All Blue.

                The young lady was still going to draw a map of the world.

                And they were going to accompany their captain to the One Piece.

                “No. Freaking. Way.”

                The young lady looked up at her companion, who was staring wide eyed at one of Mac’s bookshelves. He had a look of shock and disbelief on his face, and at first she was afraid of what he’d seen. Then she saw the shock turn into delight as his face lit up and his lips curled into a grin as he pulled a fairly new looking book from the shelf. “What is it?”

                “A brand new Imaki Imahara collection!” he said. He flipped to the first page, looking on eagerly. “It came out ten months ago! It’s all new material!” He showed the cover to her, and the young woman clapped happily. “New material! I thought he retired! But no! New stuff! And it’s a thick volume!”

                “There’s gotta be at least a few hundred pages in there,” she said, nearly drooling at the thought. The young man sat down on the loveseat and padded the spot next to him. The young woman scrambled over with the blanket she’d dragged from the guest room and wrapped it around their shoulders. Once they were settled and warm, they started to read aloud to each other, taking turns with each poem.

 

                Mac stopped by to check on his patients, and saw they were currently enthralled in a book of poetry that had come in on a trade ship a little while back. The mayor wasn’t much of a poetry fan, but picked the collection up on a whim, thinking that maybe he should be reading more poetry to better his cultural understanding. That was important when you were a mayor, right?

                Of course he never got around to it. Cobbler was still a puppy at the time, and it was during the peak of their big harvest season – he was busy making sure the harvest festival was organized and the apple pickers were being cared for, all on top of his normal duties as the mayor of the island. He’d completely forgotten about the book.

                But seeing the young man and young woman so clearly engaged by the tome, he couldn’t help but smile. They didn’t seem to notice him, but they were smiling at each other and exchanging happier tones and words as they stayed curled up on the loveseat, reading aloud to each other. He’d never seen them really smile before then, and it made him feel good to see it happen – even if it wasn’t with him, they were capable of smiling now.

                _I guess they’re going to get more joy out of that than I ever will,_ he thought to himself. _But for now, I think it’s better to leave them alone for a little bit. I don’t want to risk ruining this moment for them._ Lingering just a moment longer, Mac backed out of his library, feeling for the first time that maybe things were going to work out for them.

 

                By the time the young man and the young woman got to the thirtieth page of the collection they decided to take a break, both to save their voices and to savor the newness of the poems. “Definitely not his best work but not bad at all,” said the young woman, taking a sip of her tea. “But it was definitely a big improvement over his last collection.”

                “Tell me about it – I didn’t even want to believe he was the one that wrote it. I still don’t, actually,” he said. “I think his publisher was giving him a tough time and telling him what to write, so I think if that’s true it explains the collection. It does seem like he’s changed publishers – maybe the whole ‘retirement’ thing was just a way to get his old publisher out of the picture while he went looking for a new one.”

                “Possible, but I-“

                “THERE you are! We found you!”

                The young man and the young woman paused to see that the library had been invaded by two small children – identical twin girls with curly brown hair – each carrying an armload of paper. Neither child could have been older than three. One of them, dressed in pale blue, was leading her sister, dressed in purple. The pale blue one dropped her stack of paper on the coffee table by the love seat, her sister shuffling behind her to gently lay her pile next to her sisters.

                “Okay, all better now!” said the one in pale blue, throwing her arms up. “Ta da!”

                The one in purple smiled and hid behind her sister.

                The young man and the young woman looked at the paper on the coffee table. They were drawings. There were dozens of crayon drawings of cats and butterflies and hearts and birds and stick figures and boats and trees and flowers and too many things that could have been just about anything. They looked up at the artists, who were smiling and antsy as they waited for the reviews.

                “Are these for us?” asked the young man.

                “Uh huh! All better now!” said the pale blue one.

                “Is the yucky gone?” her sister asked quietly.

                Before either of the floored patients could respond they heard a panicked woman’s cries from downstairs. “Wendy! Sundae! WENDY! SUNDAE! WHERE ARE YOU!? MY BABIES!” The girls looked at each other and the one in blue went onto into the hallway, planted her feet firmly on the hardwood floor, and bellowed a response.

                “MOMMY! UPSTAIRS!”

                The women quieted, but they could hear someone thundering up the stairs in anger as the pale blue twin sauntered back into the room. Moments later, a woman with straight, fiery red hair filled the door frame. “I thought I told the two of you to stay with me!” she scolded. “This isn’t your house and there are sick people here – you can’t just run around as you please!”

                The ringleader of the sisters disagreed and tried to argue her point with her mother. “Mommy, it’s okay, they’re gonna be fine!” the one in pale blue said. She gestured to the young man and the young woman, a firm look of resolve on her face. “See? They got the pictures! Now they’re gonna be all better!”

                Their mother looked up, a look of shock and horror on her face. “I am so, so sorry about this!” she said. She stepped into the room and gathered up her children, who complained once they were in their mother’s arms. “You two must need your rest and I’m so sorry they didn’t . . . well, I mean, they’re only two and a half, they don’t know any better.”

                “No, it’s all right,” said the young woman, who was looking at the drawings. They were simple drawings typical of something a toddler would do, but it was obvious these drawings – each and every one of them – was hand crafted especially for them. “This was really nice, actually.” She looked at the young girls and smiled warmly. “Thank you very much for the pictures. No one’s given us a present in a very long time.”

                The girls giggled and looked at their mother in triumph. The woman sighed, nodding her head. “All right, these little ones win this battle, but both of you need to stop wandering away from me when I tell you to sit still for five minutes! I had to talk to Mr. Mayor about something important and it’s not nice to make me worry like that!”

                “We’re sorry, Mommy,” they said in unison, hugging their mother.

                The mother looked frustrated and tired, but turned her attention back to the mayor’s patients. “Let me pawn these two off to Mac for a little bit – I’d like to speak with the two of you as well, actually.” She sighed. “This one here with the big mouth is Wendy, and Sundae is my quiet one. You can call me Ria, sugahs.”

 

                Once the twins were placed in Mac’s care (“Let’s play ballerina, Mr. Mayor!” “. . . I’m sorry I don’t think I know how to play that game.”), Ria more properly introduced herself and her reasons for the visit. She was a seamstress and owned her own clothing shop, where she sold a little bit of everything, including services such as custom tailoring and alterations. Gala and Mac had brought her in to get them a few changes of clothing and jackets so they could go outside.

                “Are you sure you can just make us new clothes?” asked the young woman.

                Ria clucked her tongue. She’d been taking the young man’s measurements when the question had come up. “It’s not a problem, sugah. You have nothing right now, so we can figure out payment or not payment or whatever later, I don’t give a shit. I can spare a few shirts and pants and skirts no problem.” The young woman still looked a little nervous. Ria shook her head. “It’s fine. Act of goodwill to draw in good publicity for my business. A lesson to pass onto my girls. It might make me feel good about myself without a bottle of wine or a shirtless, well sculpted piece of man meat who smells like sea salt and cedar. Because it’s Tuesday. I don’t need a reason, sugah.”

                The flippant tone took both drifters by surprise. Everything with the scientists had been so cold and calculating, and Mac and Gala had been gentle and patient with them. Ria was . . . not those things. The young woman was the first to try and compose herself. “Well, um, whatever your reasons, thank you so much.”

                Ria stepped away from the young man to give her a hug. “You’re welcome, sugah. Think nothing of it. And now that I have your measurements let’s talk about what you two want.  Let’s say three pairs of pants and three tops to each of you, plus the jackets. If you need any underwear I can do that, too, so I’m going to need to know if he likes boxers or briefs and I’m going to need your preference on panties as well – are you more of a cotton, a silk, or a lace?”

                Both drifters stared at Ria in shock. “You want to-“

                “Look. If I’m going to do this I’m making sure you have everything. If he likes cotton briefs then a pair of silk boxers isn’t going to do him any good. If you like thongs and pushup bras then cotton granny panties and saggy wire-free cups are going to make you uncomfortable. And I don’t want the two of you walking around like this,” Ria stopped ranting for a second to demonstrate what she meant by walking awkwardly with an uncomfortable expression on her face.

                The young man and young woman had matching expressions of bewilderment.

                Ria clucked her tongue. “Too much?”

                The young woman took a moment to think, then shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you.” The young man looked at her oddly, and she just shook her head – she’d tell him later. It was okay if he didn’t get it right away. They were used to being treated so differently that this felt new and different. It had been so long since anyone treated them like there wasn’t anything wrong with them.

 

                The rest of the visit went smoothly. Clothing preferences were given (both wanted turtlenecks to hide the numbers on their necks) and Ria continued to chat away while the young man excused himself to use the restroom. “There’s a lot we need to show you on the island. There are some beautiful nature trails in the wooded areas of the island, and the public orchards are a sight to see. There are little shops and what not around town, too. We’ll get you well acquainted soon enough, sugah.”

                The young woman thought about this. Ria seemed to think they were going to be on the island for a while – was that really how it was all going to play out? She missed their captain and the others so much. She knew the young man did, too. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that wasn’t going to be in the cards – at least, not anytime soon.

                Chief among the reasons was they didn’t know where Luffy was, and he sure as hell didn’t know where they were now – he was still probably chasing down that man. Even if somehow he knew where they were, or they knew where he was, it didn’t matter – they weren’t in any shape to leave with him and the others.

                Yeah. They would be on that island for a while.

                She looked at her hands. They were thin and bony, and her skin was dry and cracking – the hands of an old woman, not the hands of a young woman who was still in her teens. She clenched her eyes shut, frustrated by what she saw and how she felt. She used to be pretty. She used to be strong and confident and-

                “Hey, hey, stop that.” The young woman looked up to see Ria sternly looking at her.

                “Stop what?”  
                “You were looking at your hands funny and you zoned out a little. Take a deep breath – we’re going get you both nursed back to health and show you a good time,” said Ria. She smiled. “You have pretty eyes, sugah. And a pretty face, too. So when you get back in fighting shape you and I are going to doll ourselves up one night and go get some of the local men riled up so they buy us drinks.”

                “I don’t think Gala wants us drinking for a while,” said the young woman. She couldn’t help but notice the doctor was favoring herbals teas and vitamins to heal them and was staying away from more modern drugs, probably afraid of what would and wouldn’t react to whatever was still coursing through their system. She was going to need to ask him about that sometime soon.

                “Okay, wine for me, club soda for you, and disappoint for them,” said Ria, leaning back in her seat. “I mean, most of the men don’t want anything to do with me in that way because of the girls – assholes – and you’ve already got a boyfriend so-“

                The young woman held up her hand. “He’s not my boyfriend – we’re JUST friends,” she said.

                Ria looked at her oddly. “Really? With the way the two of you hang off each other-“

                “No, it’s not like that,” she said. “We’re just really close, but it’s completely platonic.” She swallowed, hoping she was phrasing things right. “We were friends before . . . it . . . happened, but we got really close while . . . it . . . was going on. And that’s how we got to where we are now. But I’m not his girlfriend.”

                Ria closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pryed.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Damn it, I’m being an insensitive bitch – you two went through God knows what kind of hell and here I am chatting about you hitting on men and having boyfriends or what now and I’m sure that’s the farthest thing from you mind.”

                “No, no, it’s fine, I’m okay with this talk!” said the young woman, making sure she was smiling. “It’s been a long time since anyone but my friend has just talked to me like I’m a normal person. You’re so relaxed and casual – you’re just being yourself around us. Mac and Gala are kind of treating us like we’re about to break but you’re just . . . you don’t have any defenses or walls or masks up and I like that. It’s refreshing.”

                “You sure?”  
                “Positive,” said the young woman. “That’s why I thanked you before.”

                “Well then you’re welcome, sugah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ria is based on an original character from my days as a Ronin Warriors fanfiction writer.


	5. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the middle of cooking, the young man suffers a hallucination and runs out into the snow, where he meets and befriends the island's blacksmith. Later that day, an unwanted guest arrives at Mac's front door.

                It was the worst thing that had happened since they’d arrived on the island.

                It was the day after they’d met the seamstress and her family. The morning had been very good, and looked like the start of a great day for the young man and the young woman. Ria had come by to visit, bringing them the clothing they’d discussed. They’d gone downstairs for the first time and sat down at Mac’s dining room table for breakfast and lunch. The young man had even been allowed to make the latter – chicken sandwiches, a simple noodle soup, and sliced apples with caramel drizzled over them for dessert.

                Seeing the young man back in the kitchen again was one of the best things the young woman had seen in a long time. He hadn’t had his hands on so much as a measuring cup in what felt like forever, but it hadn’t taken him long at all to familiarize himself with the mayor’s kitchen. He relished every bit – baking the chicken, stirring the soup, even just the simplicity of cutting the apples brought a light back into his eyes she hadn’t seen since their days as pirates.

                The young man had wanted to make dinner, too. Mac, having thoroughly enjoyed the midday meal, didn’t object to the notion – he asked his guest if he’d be all right on his own, to which the cook nodded and smiled. Kitchens were his natural environment – by all means, he should have been perfectly fine on his own. The mayor politely excused himself to attend to some work.

                The young woman had stayed with him for a bit, watching him cook with content interest. Eventually she felt the need to move around, quietly excusing herself. She used the lady’s room, grabbed a book from the study, and headed back to the kitchen. Maybe she could read it aloud while he companion cooked – as much as he loved cooking, he might like the gesture.

                As soon as she stepped back into the kitchen, she dropped the book.

                There was the kitchen, with raw meat on the counter in the middle of being cut and tenderized, and a bowl of vegetables waiting to be sautéed. Several spices were lined neatly on the counter, ready to season the meal for the evening. The beginnings of an apple pie sat lonely by the fridge, waiting to be filled with apples and cinnamon and a sugar.

                The young man was nowhere to be found.

 

                The young man felt his skin go cold.

                It had been a perfectly normal day – the old geezer was yelling at him and the other cooks just like always, Patty and Carne had challenged him to a fight over something stupid (he’d won - easily), and there had been a particularly nasty brawl between the cooks and the latest gang of pirates that thought they could take the Baratie. He was making a large pot of soup when he heard the hissing behind him.

                He turned his head and saw a giant snake with the head of a man glaring at him. He felt his hands starting to shake – how could such a monster get into the restaurant unnoticed?! Shouldn’t there have been screams and shouting and some kind of warning? Someone would have called for him – he was strong, he could fight, but seeing the cold eyes of the snake-man creature made his knees feel weak and helpless.

                The head of the snake-man was bald with dark facial hair. There was a cold, scientific look in his eyes that lacked any “good” qualities – compassion, empathy, kindness, none of it. It was like they were nothing but ice. The monster opened his mouth and a serpentine tongue slithered out, flicking the young man’s cheek and making his blood run cold. He knew the man with the slithering body.

                _Tesla._

                The young man covered his mouth, too afraid to scream, and ran out of the kitchen. He ran through the halls of the restaurant as the mad scientist snake chased him, hissing and thrashing about. The young man kept looking back, never really gaining any ground on the monster as it destroyed stoves and doors and tables and chairs in its mad pursuit for him.

                He ran as hard and as long as he could, stumbling along the way – the Baratie was infinitely bigger than it should have been, but he kept running anyways. He had to get away from that man, that snake. If he didn’t, he was going to get him and do horrible things to him. He’d had quite enough of that – no more, no more. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

                A fallen tree branch got in his way and he tripped and fell into cold, wet snow.

                The young man blinked, feeling confused and disoriented as he looked up and saw sky and trees and branches above, not the ceiling of his beloved restaurant. Below him was snow and twigs and mud, and there was even more snow falling all around him. The Tesla snake was nowhere to be found. He sat up, struggling to his feet – the jeans and sweatshirt Ria had given him were wet and cold.

                _Wait. That’s right. I haven’t been on that boat in a long time. Then how . . ._

                Realization struck him in the gut. He covered his mouth as horror and dread crept through his veins. It had all been a hallucination, a waking nightmare. He hadn’t been on the Baratie. There hadn’t been a Tesla snake. The day as he remembered it hadn’t gone like that at all. No, Ria had come by with clothing for him and his companion and they got to wear real clothing for the first time in a long time, and he and the young woman had started to explore more of their host’s home. He’d gotten to cook in Mac’s kitchen – not breakfast, but he had made them lunch, and he’d started dinner.

                And then, sometime later . . . he forgot where he was.

                And he’d run.

                Now he was standing alone, in the middle of the woods on an island he was unfamiliar with.

                He looked around and saw his footprints. He had to follow that path back to Mac’s house fast – it wouldn’t be long before the snow completely swallowed up his trail and he ended up hopelessly lost. Shivering, he crossed his arms tighter, keeping his hands in his armpits, and started the trek back to the mayor’s home.

                The wind began to blow and the snow started to fall faster.

 

                The young man didn’t know how long it had been, but he had lost the trail to Mac’s house – the snow and the wind had made it impossible to see where he was going, and the path he had blazed was either far away or buried in the storm. Worse, it was dusk, and he was quickly losing light as he wandered around in the cold, dark wilderness of the island.

                He wasn’t dressed for a snowstorm, so he shifted into his half man, half fox form to try and stay warmer. Much to his dismay, it did nothing to help. Unlike the other Zoan users he had seen, his half and half form was sleek and skinny – he was built for speed and agility in this form, not raw strength and muscle. Come to think of it, the fox form he took was also . . . tiny. Maybe some Zoan fruits were just like that, or maybe it was him, or whatever the scientists had done to them. Come to think of it, Chopper’s middle form (not counting whatever the Rumble Ball let him do) was much smaller than his reindeer body or his mostly human form.

                It didn’t matter. Snow and ice passed through his fur like it was nothing, kissing and biting the skin underneath. He shivered. It did him no good. Seeing that his fur coat was useless – perhaps even more so, he guessed, considering that his fur could get wet and freeze on him – he shifted back into his human form.

                Was he going to die out there alone in the snow? What would the young woman think? Did they realize he’d disappeared yet? Would Mac go out to look for him? No, no, the mayor seemed to have a bad knee – if he was lucky, maybe Cobbler would find him again and lead him back to the mayor’s house.

                He fell to his knees. He was getting tired. This wasn’t like the time he had been to Drum Island – he was healthier, more fit, and much better equipped back then. He was able to stand up to the harsh conditions. Now, he was soaked and cold and shivering. He wanted to start crying. After everything he’d gone through to get away from that man, after he’d gotten a chance to enjoy a little taste of freedom, he was going to die like a dog anyways.

                “Hey! HEY!”

                The young man barely heard the voice, but he was aware of something warm and soft being draped over his shoulders. He looked up and saw a figure – a man in a heavy sweater, hat, and scarf – hovering over him. He blinked, too cold to think or protest as the man picked him up, one arm under his knees and the other cradling him to his rescuer’s chest, and they started to walk.

 

                In the darkness, the young man barely recognized their destination as a blacksmith’s forge. Was this where his rescuer lived? So then was he the local blacksmith? This piece of information slowly made the cogs of his mind churn, and then the realization dawned on him. Mac had mentioned that one of their rescuers was the island’s blacksmith . . . Birchburg? Beebarn? Something like that.

                “You’re the blacksmith,” he said.

                “Yes,” the man responded. “Did Mac tell you about me?”

                The young man nodded as the blacksmith brought them inside of the forge. “He said you were one of the ones who found us – and thank you for that! But, um, sorry you had to save me again,” he said dryly as he was placed on some sort of couch or loveseat or something. He pulled the coat Braeburn had draped over his shoulders tighter. _How did I get so weak? People keep needing to rescue me and save me – what happened to the days when I was the one doing that?_ He clenched his eyes shut, remembering all of the times he had saved his friends and the young woman – especially her – during their pirating days.

                Now he wasn’t even able to be trusted alone and was getting carried around.

                “Well you’re lucky I was passing through. I was on my way home from a friend’s place when I found you, but I gotta ask – what were you doing by yourself in the middle of the woods?” The blacksmith was busy lighting the fire in the fireplace and soon it roared to life, giving the young man his first good look at the blacksmith.

                The man was built like Zoro, but at least a head taller than the green haired swordsman and had dark skin the color of chocolate. He was bald, and when he turned his head the young man saw his mouth was framed with nearly trimmed facial hair. Bright emerald eyes glinted back at him, and he gave his charge a wide, boisterous grin. “Relax, I’m going to get in touch with Mac so he and your little girlfriend don’t start panicking.”

                “Shouldn’t you just take me back to the mayor’s house?”

                The man shook his head. “This storm is going to get worse before it gets better. I’m not going out again, and like hell am I letting you go out by yourself like that – even with me as an escort, I don’t think that would be good for you,” he said. He shook his head. “Now, I’m going to ask again – what, exactly, were you doing out there? It’s snowing. You are sick or something. And you’re dressed like that.”

                The young man felt himself get tenser – his shoulders actually hurt from it. He continued to stare at the blacksmith in fear. He didn’t want to sound weak. He didn’t want to sound like he needed to be taken care of. _I don’t need this man’s pity._ He sat quietly, his heart racing in his ears. The blacksmith raised an eyebrow.

                “I’m not going to judge you. Were you just getting cabin fever or did something happen and you needed to run?” He lowered his eyes and leaned in closer to the young man. “Seriously. You need to tell me what the fuck happened. Did something happen at the mayor’s house? Is anyone else hurt? If I need to be there to protect the mayor you need to tell me.”

                He still felt tense. “Nothing happened to Mac. Or my friend. Not that I know about.”

                “So then what happened to you?”

                “I don’t want to talk about it.”

                The blacksmith snorted. “What pride and dignity are you trying to protect?”

                “The scraps that I still have.”

                “Well isn’t it better to swallow them for now so you can build yourself back up so you have something more than ‘scraps of pride and dignity’ to protect? I won’t laugh. I won’t think any less of you. Unless you hurt someone, then I will hurt you. So just swallow your pride for a second, tell me what happened, and let me help you get better.”

                The young man stared at the blacksmith in wonder. He remembered sitting on the deck of the Baratie with a different man more than a year ago. He remembered that other man refusing the meal he was giving him even though he was on the brink of starvation, and he remembered the words he told that man.

                _“Eat. Don’t you think it’s better to live now and save your pride for something worth fighting for?”_

                “. . . dude, what are you crying for?”

                The young man swallowed. “The place I was before . . . they were giving us drugs that made us hallucinate. And . . . I don’t know why, Gala hasn’t been giving us any medicine, but I had another one.” He clenched his eyes shut. “I thought I was being chased. And I must have run. And when it was over I was lost in the middle of the woods.” He lowered his eyes. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

                “No, I don’t.” The blacksmith mulled this new information over. “Hallucinations, huh?”

                “. . . yeah. Normally it was just stuff like bugs crawling all over me or something but-“

                “Hey, hey, try not to talk about it – what if you talking about it make another happen? I don’t know how to deal with that, okay?” The blacksmith held up his hands. “First things first. I’m getting you some dry clothes – I apologize, they’re probably going to be a little big on you. Then I’m going to call Gala to let him know you’ve got this hallucination head shit going on, then we’ll call Mac so he and your girlfriend know you’re okay, and then I’m going to make us some dinner. You hungry?”

                 “Um, I can cook. You’re putting me up for the night so it’s the least I can do.”

                “You sure you don’t need the rest? What if you have another hallucination or something?” said the blacksmith, his arms crossed as he looked at the young man with worry. “I don’t mind making dinner and you should get some rest – after we get you into some dry clothes. You don’t need to do anything for me.”

                “I love cooking, and if I get started now – or after getting some dry clothes – then we’ll have a head start on dinner, right?” He smiled, trying to convince his host. “I’ve been a cook since I was a kid. I just got to cook again for the first time in a long time this afternoon, and even though I knew I missed it, I didn’t realize how much until I was back in one. Besides, it’s not like I’m any worse off in the kitchen if I hallucinate again, right?”

                “Maybe, but you probably should relax.”

                “No, really, I do love cooking and it probably would relax me . . . uh . . . Bluebeard? Barnboy?”

                The blacksmith laughed and extended his hand. “. . . ‘Braeburn’. Marcus ‘Braeburn’.”

                “Oh. Sorry.”

                “It’s okay. And you are?”

                The young man frowned. “Mac didn’t tell you, huh?” He explained to Braeburn that he and the young woman were having difficulty saying their names, but avoided going into it any further. Braeburn nodded sympathetically, letting the topic lie were it was before gesturing the young man to follow him to dry, warm clothing.

 

                Braeburn was right – the young man was several sizes too small for the sweater he lent him, and had it not been for a pair of drawstring pants then there would have been another problem, seeing as none of Braeburn’s belts could have possibly been small enough to hold up any of the other pants. The clothes he’d been wearing were hung by the fireplace to dry overnight and the two men got to work on their plans for the evening – Braeburn on the Den Den Mushi, the young man in the kitchen.

                The calls to Mac and Gala went as expected. Gala said he would get to work on some herbal remedies that might help remove the hallucinatory toxins from their systems, and Mac seemed quite relieved that the young man was all right – the young woman was panicking and he was going to need to calm her down before he called back so the two could talk to each other.

                And then Braeburn sat down to dinner and didn’t recognize any of the food that had been in his fridge. “Where the hell did you get all this fancy food?” he asked the young man. The young man raised an eyebrow in confusion and pointed at his fridge and pantry. “How the hell did you get this from what I had?”

                “I can make do rather nicely with almost anything,” said the young man.

                Braeburn sat down. The steaks he’d bought looked . . . amazing . . . and smelled like the kind of stuff he used to get at a steakhouse near his hometown . . . except better. But he knew he’d bought subprime meat at a discount, yet this could have gone toe to toe with the finest cuts of fillet mignon. The vegetables still looked bright and colorful instead of dull and grayish and smelled just as wonderful – he could never figure out cooked vegetables and usually just ate them raw. The rice was white and fluffy and buttery smelling, not the porridge-like, gooey mess he usually came up with.

                “All of this came from my kitchen?”

                “Yeah. It did.”

                “Well let’s put it to the test,” said the blacksmith, looking over his plate and the spread on the table. Sure it smelled good but that didn’t mean it tasted good, right? But there was only one way to find out. Braeburn started to cut his steak – it was practically falling apart on his fork. His mouth started to water – so tender, just from that little bit. He stuffed a morsel into his mouth, chewed, and then froze. “Oh my God.”

                The young man’s eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”

                “This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.” The young man grinned as Braeburn continued to chew and swallow, then tried the vegetables. He chewed, stopped, and declared he was wrong – no, THOSE were the best things he had ever put in his mouth. The young man laughed and sat down to his own plate while Braeburn tried to articulate the sensations of taste going on in his mouth. “It’s like . . . it’s like . . . delicious! It’s all . . . soft and meaty and . . . vegetable-y . . .”

                “You like?”  
                “I might have a hard time bringing you back to Mac’s house after this.”

                “Speaking of Mac,” the young man started, “how is he? And my companion? Is she okay?”

                “Mac thinks she’ll be okay – she was a little panic stricken when you vanished on her, but he’s going to calm her down and call us back in a little bit so the two of you can talk,” said Braeburn. “You two must be really close. I’m sorry the storm’s keeping you from her. But it’s better to wait the storm out than risk a tragedy.”

                As they ate, the young man thought about their talk. “Den Den Mushi,” he said.

                “Huh?” Braeburn asked after washing down another mouthful of steak.

                “Den Den Mushi! I can call-“

                Braeburn held up his hand, an apologetic frown on his face. “Sorry. I know what you want to say but that that won’t work here,” he said quietly. “Some of the seabed surrounding this island has a mineral that gives off a strong magnetic field the Den Den Mushi have a hard time communicating through. They can talk fine with other snails on the island, but the farthest they can go is only about a knot or two away from the shore. Believe me, if we could we would have had you guys contact your families already.”

                The young man thought. He shrugged, deciding that he and the young woman would figure something out, like a letter or something, in the coming days. Braeburn was still looking at him, a slight hint of nervousness in his eyes – the young man decided to clear his throat and change the subject. “So, um . . . you like the food?”

                “I think it might be better than sex.”

 

                Braeburn insisted on cleaning up after dinner and told his guest to make himself at home, which the young man took as an invitation to do some exploring. Not that he expected the blacksmith to be living in a palace worthy of “exploration”, it was something to do and get his mind off the events of the day. He’d already talked with his companion for a short bit, but she sounded exhausted and upset and everyone thought it might be best if she get some rest. Braeburn promised to bring the young man back bright and early, which seemed fair enough.

                He found himself in what he guessed would have been a spare bedroom had more people lived at the force, but instead of a bed and dresser, he found musical instruments. He cocked his head to the side. Braeburn had briefly mentioned he was in a band that was going on a hiatus during dinner but hadn’t expanded much on it. _This must be their practice space._

                There were several books of sheet music – mostly real and fake books – and a set up “stage” area with a microphone, a bass, a guitar, and a full drum kit. There was an upright piano in a corner and a tuning fork hanging by the door. The room was dark and lonely, probably from lack of use over the hiatus. He left the music room, but was amused that Braeburn had dedicated an entire room in his small home to his hobby.

                He found himself back in the living room and sat on the love seat again, looking around. It had a very manly, log cabin feel to it with lots of dark, rustic colors and earthy tones. The throws and rugs were all slightly off forest greens that didn’t quite match but showed signs of effort. On the mantle of the fireplace were a few framed pictures, including one of Ria and her daughters and a few of her daughter’s “masterpieces”, very similar to the ones the twins had given him and his companion the day before.

                It seemed like the blacksmith was somewhat close to the seamstress and her children, but it didn’t seem like the family was living at the forge so he probably wasn’t her husband. _I wonder what’s going on between Braeburn and Ria? Are they dating or something? Family, maybe?_ He frowned – he’d figure it out later.

                The young man’s eyes wandered to a corner and caught something interesting. Seeing a large hammer in a blacksmith’s home shouldn’t have been a surprise, but this wasn’t a working hammer – at least, not that kind of work. He stood and walked over to get a closer look. This hammer wasn’t a tool – this was probably a weapon, some kind of war hammer.

                For one, it was way too big to be practical for hammering out a sword or a horse shoe. The head alone was easily as big as his torso – probably even bigger, considering his thinner build –with worn leather wrapped around the grip. The head was decorated a little, and strangely it looked like it had been crudely painted some time ago, hiding some of the designs. Odd, perhaps, but there were other details that couldn’t be painted over, like some carvings and an almost golden sheen covering the blunt end of the weapon.

                “I see you’ve found Rosalie.”

                The young man nearly jumped as Braeburn chuckled behind him. “I, um-“

                “Relax, I’m not going to attack you or anything crazy like that – I like you and I don’t hurt people I like.” Braeburn slid beside him and crossed his arms, touching the tip of the handle. “I haven’t had a need to use her in a long time and, God willing, I won’t for a long time to come. Maybe never if I’m lucky. But she’s still a lovely hammer, isn’t she?”

                “I guess? I don’t know much about hammers. Except for some mallets you use in the kitchen for tenderizing and crushing, and I know what carpenter’s hammers look like but I don’t do much with my hands that would hurt them – I wouldn’t be able to cook if I did,” said the young man. “I mean, I guess it’s a pretty hammer? It’s got gold on it. Right?”

                “Ah. That’s not gold. That’s orihalcum. I’m not sure which is harder, but it’s in the same league as seastone,” said Braeburn. “But just a little bit – it adds a little bit of an edge but it’s still mostly steel. Orihalcum’s way too expensive and too rare to make an entire hammer head out of– most of the things sold as ‘orihalcum’ are really just plated steel or some kind of alloy, so it’s not the real deal. In this case it’s a layer of plating on the blunt end.”

                “Oh,” said the young man. He thought briefly back to the first battle he’d watched Luffy fight, against that asshole Don Krieg and his supposed “orihalcum” armor. Even as strong as Luffy was back then, it made sense that his captain was fighting an opponent with a knock off and not the real deal. “Just how rare is it?”

                “Sometimes you find a nugget in a mine, but that’s about it. That’s why you don’t have weapons or armor made of solid orihalcum – there just isn’t enough of it,” said Braeburn a little sadly. However, the dullness faded as he spoke again. “But I’ve heard stories about a mine full of it somewhere, just waiting to be found – the Mine of Volunder. You could make the best stuff in the world. Armor, weapons, kettles, jewelry, I don’t care I would have a field day with a whole mine of unrefined orihalcum at my fingertips. ”

                The young man closed his eyes. “Have you ever heard of the All Blue?”

                The blacksmith paused to think. “. . . I think so? It’s like . . . something to do with fish?”

                “It’s a legendary sea where fish from all of the blues – East, West, North, and South – swim. For a cook, it’s like your orihalcum mine – a dream, a paradise, because you have the freshest fish from all over the world right there waiting to be caught. You could make all kind of dishes that you normally couldn’t make. But no one knows where it is, and a lot of people believe it doesn’t even exists.” He grinned. “But that’s the reason I came to the Grand Line in the first place – if it’s anywhere, it’s got to be here.”

                Braeburn smiled. “Quite the story.”

                “It’s out there,” said the young man. He closed his eyes and smiled. “I’m going to find it.”

                “Of course you will. But let’s get you healthy again first – it’s not going to go anywhere in the meantime,” said Braeburn. He laughed. “It’s an ocean, right? They can’t move, can they?” His eyes widened. “I think.” He coughed. “Let’s assume it’s not going to go anywhere – if it’s out there now, it’ll be there when you’re ready to set sail.”

                The young man nodded dreamily.  “And the Mine of Volunder?”

                “Pff. Anyplace with rocks is a likely candidate. If I ever tried to look, I’d be searching forever.”

                The young man frowned. “You won’t ever find it if you don’t try.”

                Braeburn sighed. “Yeah . . . I guess . . . but I don’t know where I’d start looking, you know?” He turned to the young man and forced a smile. The young man tried to force one back, but could see that his host was putting on the happy face for his benefit. “In the meantime would I put some water on for tea or coffee or something – let me know what you’d like, okay?”

                The young man nodded, but frowned as the blacksmith headed into the kitchen. What was holding him back? _Come on, Braeburn, I can see it in your eyes – you want to find that mine just as bad as I want to find the All Blue – that must be your dream. So what’s keeping you from searching for Volunder’s Mine?_

                Morning came, and the young man hadn’t slept a wink.

                Braeburn nearly panicked when he found him looking worse than before, with heavy bags under his eyes and a lost, dazed look on his face. Despite taking the couch and letting his guest have the bed, thinking he’d be more comfortable there, it seemed this had done nothing for him. Thinking he had screwed up badly but knowing Gala would be headed to Mac’s that morning anyways, he gathered up the young man and piggy backed him all the way to the mayor’s house.

                The young man was quiet, absently looking around as they walked now that he was outside in better light. The storm had passed and the sun was out – it was still cold, but at least it was sunny. He squinted – between the snow and the sun, it was hard to see, and he could only barely make out what was going on around him.

                Trees. Ocean. Sky. Clouds. Snow.

                He could see parts of the town to his right, but it was kind of far away and between his lack of sleep and still hazy eyesight, it was very blurry – he could only barely make out the some chimney smoke and some other moving things – could have been flags or laundry or who knew what. He was sure he and the young woman would see plenty of it once they got to explore the town some more when they were feeling better.

                Braeburn had kept mostly quiet, focusing on getting him back to Mac’s house quickly. He hadn’t given the young man time to protest the piggy back ride, and in some ways he didn’t really care. He was tired, dizzy, and truth be told he wasn’t sure if he had the endurance to go however far it was to the mayor’s anymore.

                He clenched his fist. _I will get that endurance back. All of it._

                “You okay there?” Braeburn asked.

                “Huh?”

                “You have a death grip on my jacket.”

                “Oh. Sorry.”

                The young man was still a bit out of it, but wanted to talk. “Did you sleep well?”

                “Meh. Couches aren’t great but I’ve slept on worse.”

                _They’re a lot better than cold floors._ “That’s good.”

                “Hey, I appreciate that you want to talk, but you probably need the rest – even if you aren’t able to sleep right now, try to relax. I’m not insulted – honest. I’ll come by with something from town Gala would probably say ‘no’ to,” Braeburn said with a laugh. “Or anything else you want, really. I don’t mind.”

                “Thanks.”

 

                The mayor’s house came into view, and Braeburn hurried his pace. It was only moments later he found himself being let into Mac’s living room – or at least, a very dark and hard to see Mac’s living room that was slowly getting lighter as his eyes adjusted to the lack of white – where Braeburn finally put him down.

                He was vaguely aware of Mac putting his hands on his shoulders and asking if he was okay before he felt himself getting side tackled by the young woman, who buried her face in his shoulder and held him tightly – she was crying, but happy to see him. Mac was a little taken aback, but politely backed away as the young man returned the embrace.

                “I was scared,” she said. “You just disappeared on me.”

                “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his head on hers. “I didn’t want to.”

                “I know.”

                “I’ll try to not do that again.”

                Mac and Braeburn barely caught them as they started to collapse, finally falling asleep now that they knew the other was safe.

 

                Things were peaceful at Mac’s for a while. The young man and young woman were carried back up to the guest room and laid out on the beds (although at an undetermined time later one of them ended up in the other’s anyways – they just didn’t seem like they could stay comfortable without the other close at hand) and Gala popped over to see how the drifters were doing. Ria and her children stopped by sometime later with a few more changes of clothing, then left with the blacksmith shortly after. The doctor left as well, and for several hours the mayor’s house was quiet.

                Until there was a knock on his door.

                Mac looked at his wall clock – it was late for someone to be looking for him short of an emergency, but there were no dire shouts about a fire or a death or an accident so that didn’t seem likely. Cobbler looked at him from his position at the bottom of the stairs in curiosity. “I don’t know, boy,” he said. He got up from his chair, walked to the door, and cleared his throat. “Hello? May I ask who’s calling at this late hour?”  
                “I need to speak with the mayor of this town. I was told you were him.”

                Mac’s eyes widened. _Uh oh. A non-native._ “Once again, who are you?”

                “Please, sir. If you cooperate then I will not be forced to use aggression.”

                Mac swallowed. He opened the door and saw a pair of people in white lab coats waiting for him. The man was bald with black facial hair and the woman had blonde hair and thickly rimmed glasses. Cobbler walked over to investigate, saw them, and growled. “Cobbler, down!” Mac snapped. “All right, who are you and what are you after?”

                The man grinned. “You may have heard of me. Does the name ‘Thomas Tesla’ ring a bell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of Braeburn’s mine came from a quick Google search on blacksmiths to see what kinds of blacksmiths existed in various mythologies. I settled on one from Norse/German legends and then adjusted the spelling a little. Otherwise I was having trouble coming up with good, One Piece-like names for it that made sense.


	6. Another Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0543 and 0544 hear Tesla downstairs. Mac tries to stall. Ria and Braeburn try to come to the rescue, only to run into another visitor on the island. After a brief look into Mac's past, the situation at his home changes dramatically.

                Between fitful sleeping and the knock on the door downstairs, the young lady and the young man were both awakened. Sleepily, the young woman looked at the clock and tried to mull over the late hour. “It’s really late,” she whispered, looking at her companion in sleepy curiosity. “Who in the world would be calling Mac now?”

                The young man shrugged. “He’s the mayor. Maybe it’s an emergency?”

                The sound of the caller’s voice was soft, but familiar. It took them a few moments to recognize who it was, and a few more moments to believe it. They slowly turned their eyes towards each other and saw fear and panic mirrored in the expression of their companion. Their hands were shaking, and they felt their throats dry out as their blood froze.

                They weren’t imagining things.

                It was _him_.

                Mac  didn’t know who it was, but they knew. The voice was calm and scientific, precise in its choice of words, like slicing through the air with a scalpel as if it were flesh. The sound felt surreal, like it shouldn’t be real, but without a doubt in either of their minds, it was him. Downstairs, Mac was talking with that man.

                _Tesla._

                The conversation between Mac and Tesla floated up the stairs and through the floorboards, and they were able to hear enough to understand what was going on. Tesla was looking for them. He’d figured out their boat landed on Apple Island and obviously the mayor was the first person he should talk to – wouldn’t a mayor know what was going on in his own town?

                The young woman flung herself at the young man, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. “No,” she whispered. She felt him pull her closer to him, and could feel he, too, was sobbing. Tesla was going to find them. And they’d be taken back to the ship and thrown into the Tank and maybe they wouldn’t even be allowed to see each other in the holding cell anymore. Neither of them, especially the young woman, was going to spend another moment without some kind of seastone restraint.

                Freedom had been in their grasp. And now it was going to be snatched away again.

 

_2 hours earlier_

 

                “So you made friends with the young man last night, huh Braeburn?” said Ria, sitting with her legs crossed at the blacksmith’s kitchen table. She was idling sipping from her coffee cup, letting her left foot swing back and forth during their idle conversation. After leaving Mac’s, the group had gotten dinner at the Cider Mug followed by dessert at Braeburn’s. The twins were now asleep on his couch while their mother and her friend talked. Naturally, the blacksmith’s “sleepover party” came up.

                “Wasn’t how I intended to befriend either one of them, but yeah, you could say that,” he said. “Poor guy – wonder what the hell did that to mess them up so bad in the head like that?” The blacksmith added another lump of sugar to his coffee and rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes I just don’t get people.”

                “Hmm?”

                “Whoever did whatever that was to them gave them something that causes hallucinations.”

                “You don’t mean like, acid or magic mushrooms or cactus juice or something?”

                Braeburn sighed. “Maybe. Point is, whatever it was is still in his system at least – that’s why he ran out on Mac last night. He wasn’t trying to run away from the mayor or abandon his friend – if anything I don’t think either one of them took well to being away from each other last night – but because he thought someone or something was chasing him and he was trying to get away from that.”

                “So he was running away from what amounts to . . . nothing,” said the seamstress. She sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching. “I can’t imagine seeing things that aren’t there and being so terrified of them I just start running away like that. He must have been terrified.” She leaned forward and rested her head on the table. “Makes some of the shit we’ve gone through seem like child’s play, you know?”

                “We still know so little about what happened to them.”

                “You trying to downplay what happened to them?” asked Ria.

                “I’m thinking that you might have made an understatement,” said Braeburn.  “But like I said . . . something happened to them, and I don’t get it. When he was here last night, the young man made me dinner as a thank you. Ria, it was . . . amazing. I haven’t had food that good in years. This guy is a TALENTED chef.” He clenched his eyes shut. “Even with natural talent, he must have spent a long time – years, probably – learning how to use spices and how to handle meat and when to do what. And what’s more it’s not just a livelihood for him – it’s his passion. He loves cooking. Ria, don’t you see? He had a LIFE before something or someone pulled him away from it and did that to him. I just don’t understand why someone would do that.”

                Ria cleared her throat, her playful tone melting into a stoic stare. “I know, Braeburn. You know how well I know that.” She looked back into the living room where her girls were sleeping and frowned. “This is the Great Pirate Era, and we know firsthand most of them of . . . not very nice. There are a lot of bad people in this world, and a lot of good people get hurt because of it. The best we can do is keep the ones we love safe.”

                Braeburn looked forlornly out the kitchen window towards the sea. “Yeah. I know.”

                The seamstress looked away. “I know you miss-“

                “Pirate ship!”

 

_The present_

 

                Mac’s eyes widened. Yes, yes that name did ring a bell. Tesla was a pirate notorious for cruelly torturing other pirates in the name of what he called ‘science’. What the hell was he doing outside his front door? _Why is this man here?! What could he possibly want with this island!?_ He swallowed as he nodded in recognition.

Tesla grinned, moving his way inside the house. The woman nodded at Mac, moving with her boss. Cobbler continued growling at them, resulting in the pirate captain giving the dog a cold glare. Mac wasn’t sure if he should shut the door behind them or not – here, in his living room, was the crazed mad scientist of the Science Pirates, THOMAS TESLA!

                Casually, Tesla sat down in Mac’s favorite chair, folding his hands and neatly placing them in his lap. “It seems to me that you’ve heard of me and my work – am I correct?” Dumbly, Mac nodded, feeling himself begin to sweat around his collar. “Good, then. Please, sit down and relax – I have no ill intentions against you or any of your island’s residents.”

                Mac sat down on the couch, taking a few deep breaths. He wasn’t sure he trusted Tesla to keep his word, but for the moment he needed to stay calm. This was just what he needed – one day two kids in really rough shape wash up on his shore like they’d been through some kind of science experiment gone horribly wrong and then a few days later Thomas Tesla shows up looking for something-

                _Oh, FUCK._

 

_1 hour, fifteen minutes earlier_

 

                Braeburn and Ria had stayed by the window in the blacksmith’s kitchen, watching as the pirate ship made its way closer and closer to the shore, eventually docking a little bit off the beach – they would need to take a smaller boat to shore if they planned on making landfall. And once the pair saw something being lowered into the water, that confirmed the theory.

                The seamstress scoffed. “Well, whoever those idiots are they have balls of steel coming here,” said Ria, keeping a stone grip on her long empty coffee cup. “I can’t believe they think it’s a good idea here. Are they fucking blind or just stupid?” She sighed. “Well, maybe they’re just low on supplies and they can’t get to Water 7 on what they have and made a do or die decision.”

                “Well it’s dark and a little foggy . . .” said Braeburn. “Maybe ‘blind’ isn’t too far off.”

                “I guess that’s possible. Still, can you make out the Jolly Roger?” said Ria.

                Seeing she had a good idea, Braeburn started to fish through his kitchen junk drawers, seeking out a telescope or a pair of binoculars. After finding a toy telescope that he suspected belonged to one of the twins and deciding it would do for now, he lengthened the makeshift tool and peered out the window. “It’s wearing safety goggles, and the cross-bones are a pair of bubbling test tubes instead of, well, bones.”

                Ria thought. “That sounds like the Tesla Pirates,” she said. “They’re known for-” Ria’s eyes snapped open in sudden realization and her tone changed for the dramatic as she grabbed the blacksmith’s elbows and looked at him in panic. “Braeburn! Did you finish the repairs on Romulus and Remus!? Is Rosalie ready to go?”

                “What?”

                “Tesla runs experiments on people!”

                Braeburn felt his spine go cold. “He’s going to attack the island?”

                “No, you idiot! Mac’s guests!”

                The blacksmith felt the world slow down. He HAD heard of the Tesla pirates before, and Ria was right – running experiments on people was what they were best known for. And Mac’s guests . . . everything was falling into place. The hospital gowns they’d been wearing. The numbers on the backs of their necks – serial numbers or something.

                _Oh my God._

                 “That must be what happened to them, and now he’s-”

                “-your swords are in the forge and Rosalie is in the living room. Let’s-“

                “. . . Mommy . . . Uncle Braeburn . . . why are you yelling?”

                The adults froze when they realized the twins were awake . . . and couldn’t be left alone.

 

_The present_

 

                The young woman was afraid she was going to phase through the floor just like she had a week or so ago, only this time she’d be falling right into Tesla’s clutches and not away from him like before. She whimpered at the young man, clinging to his arms and his pajamas. “I don’t . . . I don’t want to fall through the floor . . .” She barely spoke, wondering if young man could even hear her.

                The young man evaluated her for a few seconds, his eyes wide. He pulled her tight, mumbled “trust me” into her ear, and gently, slowly, lifted them off the bed. The young woman almost shrieked, but he was quick to cover her mouth, shaking his head vigorously “no”. She nodded, still fighting back sobs as she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

                They floated there, the young man concentrating to keep her from falling through the bed, through the floor, and into Tesla’s lap. He couldn’t let that happened to her. Damn it, he hated his Devil Fruit – no, Devil Fruits – but right now one of them was keeping them safe, even if only for a few more minutes. Tesla finding out they were there would . . .

                He couldn’t stomach the thought.

 

_45 minutes ago_

Ria called in a favor from Kerry Pippin, one of the young ladies who worked in her shop part time, to watch the twins at the forge – she was not letting Braeburn go after Tesla alone, but there was no way she was going to leave the castaways to just get picked up by him and dragged back to whatever hellhole he’d kept them in for who knew how long. Once Kerry arrived, she kissed her children goodbye, promised she would come back, and left with the blacksmith, ready to fight.

                “If he figures out what happened here they’re in deep trouble – the more I think about it the more I’m convinced they’re victims of that son of a bitch, and I’ve got a bad feeling that boat you found them in is one of his own lifeboats – if he sees it he’s going to know that they’re here!” said Ria. She was moving quickly, resolved to not let anything bad happen to the people they’d worked so hard to save. “We’ve got to do something if he starts snooping around for them!”

                “It’s been a long time since we’ve picked a fight, Ria,” said Braeburn. “What good are we going to do them? These are pirates – they probably got into a fight with a bunch of Marines as recently as this morning! They’re in much better shape to fight than we are!” The two were marching as fast as they could through the snow towards the mayor’s. The blacksmith’s house was closer on foot than where the Tesla pirates were docked, but they’d lost time finding someone to watch the twins and the path of the mad scientist would be clear of snow.

                “Well we’re the only people on the island who have a CHANCE against Tesla right now – the sheriff’s only good for throwing the occasional drunk into the cooler for a night and at best we’d get an uncontrolled angry mob with pitchforks and torches out of the farming folk here – we don’t even have a lot of hunters around here, Braeburn! We’re IT, practice or no practice!”

                Braeburn swallowed. She was right. As rusty as they were, the island didn’t have anyone in town who could defend it at that moment, and the mayor’s house was one of the worst places those drifters could be right now. Mac was in no position to stop Tesla if the pirate figured out his escaped prisoners were in his house – oh sure he would try to do something, but the last time he’d tried to defend anyone he’d gotten himself hurt.

                “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him sooner,” said Ria, mentally beating herself for the oversight.

                “We can’t worry about that now – we need to make sure we don’t get ourselves killed – or dragged onto that ship ourselves – and protect Mac’s house!” Braeburn shot a serious look at the seamstress. “Promise me this – if it gets bad, you get the hell out of there, you got that? You need to keep yourself safe for Wendy and Sundae. If things get nasty, run away. Understood?”

                Ria nodded – she didn’t want to abandon Braeburn, but he was right. “I guess I’ll-“

                “Hey, what are you two doing out so late? You look like you’re on a war path!”

                The blacksmith and seamstress stopped, turned, and couldn’t believe their luck.

 

_The present_

 

                “Good – you seem a bit more focused. Now, here is my problem – two of my specimens escaped my ship a few nights ago. All I need you to do is tell me whether or not they landed on your island, or if I need to search another nearby island for them. The research on them was quite exciting and I would like to get back to it as soon as possible,” he said. He looked at Mac expectantly, grinning widely and leaning forward.

                Mac smiled back. _SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!!!_

“Well?”

                “Who told you to come find me?” He had to stall until he thought of something. Cobbler was still angry, gnarling his teeth at the scientist. Mac reached down and held the dog’s collar. “Calm down, boy.” _I know you don’t like him – I don’t either. But it’s too dangerous – we can’t risk the castaways upstairs. It’s not fair to play games with their freedom if this man is involved._

                Tesla scoffed. “Some drunken whore wandering around on the beach – sober enough to give good directions, though. And wouldn’t you know it, on my way here we came across one of my lifeboats. Since the only lifeboat that’s gone missing in recent days is the one 0543 and 0544 used to escape I have no choice but to conclude they are here.”  
                Mac closed his eyes. More stalling time. “Well, what did they look like?”

                “0543 is a female around nineteen to twenty years of age. 0544 is a male around twenty to twenty one years of age,” he said. “The girl has a tattoo on one arm. They were recently shaved so they don’t have a whole lot of hair on their bodies right now.” Tesla began to drum his fingers together, looking at Mac expectantly. “I already told you I saw my lifeboat. I know they’re here. So stop stalling and tell me where they are!”

 

_35 minutes earlier_

                “ . . . and that’s what’s going on. You’ve gotta do something!” said Ria.

                “You said it’s a young man and a young woman?”

                “Yes. Mac didn’t want to spread around what happened but-“ Braeburn started.

                “Describe them to me. _Now_.”

                “Both of them were shaved bald but the young woman is growing in orange hair and has a tattoo on her left shoulder. The young man is growing in blonde hair and has eyebrows that curl up on the left side. They’re both pretty skinny and in rough shape, but have gotten better since we found them a few days ago,” said Ria. She widened her eyes. “Wait, you do know them do you-“

                “Not personally, but I know someone who’s been looking for a pair matching that description – well, mostly – who were kidnapped by Tesla a little over a year ago. If they escaped alive, and it sounds like they did, I’ll eat my shirt if he’s not looking for them. Here’s what you two need to do – find a place to keep an eye on that ship without getting spotted. I will make sure that everyone on this island – including the escaped prisoners – is safe. When he leaves, come find me at the mayor’s house. Are we clear?”

                “Yes, sir!” Ria and Braeburn said, heading off on their new assignment. 

 

_The present_

 

                That was it.

                Mac was going to turn them over to Tesla, either out of fear for his island or fear for his own life. The young man was certain the man wouldn’t turn them over to be evil – he had been far too nice to them. He’d given them real food – juice, apples, soup, crackers, rice, even some fish the other night – and much more than they could have asked for. They had pajamas. They were given privacy to give each other sponge baths. They had a BED to sleep on.

                But Mac didn’t have a reason to do any of that for them. He didn’t owe them anything, and he didn’t know them. Given the choice between protecting his island and his own life or theirs, the choice seemed obvious. They couldn’t hate or blame him for that. They didn’t want anything bad to happen to Mac or Gala or Braeburn or Ria and her girls . . . it wouldn’t be fair to any of them.

                But the little they’d gotten back in the last few days was going to be gone and they’d be back to where they were before. Back to the holding cell. Back to the experiments, and they might have been worse than before now Tesla knew the second powers had “woken up” or whatever. He clutched at the hem of the young woman’s pajamas, feeling the fox wanting to come out. He thought he could feel his face moving, thought he could feel fur sprouting from his hands.

                No, not now! He had to keep the young woman floating so she didn’t sink through the floor. He didn’t know if he could use both powers at once – if he turned into the fox against his will they might be done for. Even if the young woman didn’t phase through the floor Tesla might hear the creak of them landing on the mattress and demand to know what he had just heard.

                And that was when he heard what might as well have been the voice of an angel.

 

                “What’s going on here?”

                Mac could have sobbed. _You always did have the best timing . . ._

_Eight years ago . . ._

_The town was still a mess._

_Mac was amazed that, after so many years of living on the Grand Line – born and raised – that this was the first time his precious home had been brutalized by pirates. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to scorched woods and memories as the townspeople sifted through the rubble for their loved ones. They were leaderless in the wake of that yellow-bellied Mayor Egle attempting to flee the island – Mac felt no sympathy when the pirates sunk his ship. No one knew the death toll yet, but there would be plenty of work in the graveyard in the days to come. Even with a Marine flagship in sight of the island, their cries for help went unnoticed._

_But pride of the island, the orchards, were untouched. All because of . . ._

_“Hey, how’s your knee?”_

_Mac turned his head to see the island’s savior sitting beside him in Dr. Fuji’s infirmary, a smile on his face and a mug of hard apple cider in hand. The town record clerk struggled to sit up, the other man wincing in sympathy. “I’m okay. Marines, pirates, and bounty hunters survive gunshot wounds all the time – this is nothing, right?”_

_“No offense, Mac, but you’re not in half the shape even the weakest of those guys are in,” said the other man, crossing his legs. “For someone like me, then yeah it’s nothing, but for you? Doc Fuji’s really worried about you. You need to keep weight off it if you ever plan on walking again.” His concern shifted to a grin. “That said, you had some balls of steel out there.”_

_“I got my ass kicked in about two seconds,” said Mac._

_“Yes. Yes you did. But you had the guts to get out there and stand up to those pirates, knowing that you had next to no chance of winning,” said the other man. He threw back the rest of the cider. “And I respect that. I like you – you’re really weak but you’ve got a lot of spunk!” Mac frowned as the man laughed at him. “No, no, don’t look at me like that – I really like you. There are much stronger men out there who don’t have half the guts you do.”_

_“But I didn’t do anything. So many people are dead-“_

_“- but you stalled them a little and probably saved a few lives, too,” said the other man. He grinned. “That’s actually why I’m here. Since the mayor fled and got himself cannoned to death the sheriff rallied who was left for a little election, and guess who won by a landslide.” Mac’s eyes widened in disbelief._

_“What!? But I’m just a records clerk!” he said._

_“No, you’re the mayor.”_

_“I don’t know how to lead the island!” said Mac. He closed his eyes. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did this island would have been destroyed! You protected everyone . . . and the orchards. Not so much as a leaf was harmed. You stopped the bloodshed. You saved this town. Why didn’t they make you the mayor?”_

_“I don’t want to be a mayor.”_

_“Then why do you think I do?!”_

_“I like this island. But not like you. You have passion, and everyone sees that. Sure, maybe you don’t know all the details about how to file paperwork or whatever it is mayors do, but you love this island and they trust you to make decisions about the town and the people here. That’s why they made you mayor.”_

_Mac closed his eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “Those idiots.” He turned his attention to the other man. “You know, I’m going to need to discuss it with everyone – guess I need to schedule a town hall, don’t I? – but I’d actually like to ask you something.” He laid back down, getting tired. “The Marines left us for dead. Bounty hunters would charge us an arm and a leg. But you . . . I think I trust you.”_

_“What are you saying?”_

_“I’d like to ask the town if they’d like it if Apple Island became your turf and we flew your flag.”_

 

                Cobbler perked up at the sound of the new voice and woofed. He rushed to the front door, sitting before this newest visitor with his tail wagging in excitement and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He was rewarded with a dog treat and a scratch behind the ears. “Hey there, Cobbler – you’ve gotten big since the last time I saw you!”

                Tesla and Curie looked like they were going to be sick.

                Mac got to his feet. “Shanks, what a surprise! How are you, my dear friend?”


	7. Shanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shanks chases Tesla off. Sanji and Nami finally get their names back.

                “Rah, Red Haired Shanks?” Tesla stared at the red haired pirate who ruled the oceans as an emperor in fear. Of all the men to show up, RED HAIRED SHANKS had to interrupt him? Well, he supposed ANY of them showing up would be a bad thing – ALL of them were terrifyingly powerful men (and . . . woman, if she could be called that) that Tesla made a point to avoid if possible.

                And now one of them was hugging his closest lead to 0543 and 0544.

                Shanks returned Mac’s embrace, though when he spotted Tesla he frowned. “Thomas Tesla, captain of the Science Pirates,” he greeted coldly. He put his hand on his hip and stepped forward, watching the scientist and his first mate carefully. “What, exactly, are the two of your doing on my island?”

                The scientists paled. “ _Your_ island?” asked Tesla, his voice squeaking like a mouse.

                Mac nodded. “Several years ago the Red Hair Pirates rescued us from another group of pirates. The Marines didn’t do anything to save us, and Shanks offered his protection in exchange for food and liquor stores every few months. We’ve been flying under his flag ever since – it’s better protection than a Marine base since most pirates steer clear of us when they see it. In a sense, yes, this IS his island,” said the mayor, straightening his glasses.

                “Exactly as he said,” said Shanks, taking the seat across from Tesla. He crossed his legs and propped his chin in his hand. “Now, Tesla, tell me exactly what it is you’re doing here. If you’ve suddenly decided to start experimenting on civilians then I highly suggest you rethink that idea – double if you’re looking at this island or any of the other islands flying my flag. I don’t need to tell you that you wouldn’t like what would happen to you if you tried.”

                “No, of course not,” said Tesla. He voice was calm, but his hands were trembling.

                Shanks nodded, eyeing the other pirate coolly. “Good. Now what do you want from Mac?”

                Tesla swallowed. “A few days ago my most recent specimens escaped from my ship.”

                The emperor narrowed his eyes. “What did they look like?”  
                “A male and a female. Mostly bald – we did some surgery about a week or two ago. Wearing medical examination gowns. Numbers 0543 and 0544 burnt into the backs of their necks. On our way to this home we spotted one of my lifeboats washed up on the shore – since the only one I’m missing is the one they escaped on, I can only assume they’re here,” Tesla said quickly and precisely. He stared at Shanks with intensity and hesitation. “Have you found them? I’m willing to pay you handsomely for them.”

                Shanks stared at Tesla for several seconds, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Sorry to tell you this, Tesla, but I think my men and I picked them up a few nights ago. They were barely alive when we fished them out of the water – they were mad, babbling nonsense. They were gone by the morning.”  He sighed shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “We gave them a burial at sea – it was the right thing to do.”

                “You did WHAT!?” Tesla asked, temporarily forgetting who he was yelling at.

                “I’m a pirate, not a monster – I did the decent thing,” Shanks said.

                Tesla was in disbelief. “What about my life boat? How did it end up here if you picked them up?”

                “I’ve got enough life boats, and they’re prettier. Must have washed up here on its own.”

                “But he was obviously stalling and avoiding the question! He must be hiding them!”

                Shanks stood. “You probably scared the piss out of him! Of course he was going to panic! This isn’t a Marine officer or some pirate captain or whatever else kind of hard ass is out there! This is a FARMING COMMUNITY. There are more apple tries on this island than PEOPLE. A rough day at the office for him is, I don’t know, a couple of farmers bitching over who owns what cow or some shit. I do not expect him to be able to handle an interrogation from an asshole like YOU!”

                Mac stayed quiet. The whole exchange was sickening. Tesla definitely wanted his guests – any doubt he might have had was gone after those numbers were mentioned. He was especially horrified that Tesla mentioned they had been burns – this horrible man had branded them like cattle. He’d even mentioned some kind of surgery. This, Mac noted, was all the scientist had spoken of – what else had he done to them?

                Thank God for Shanks. Somehow, he knew something was up and was making up this fairy tale about finding them half dead to throw Tesla off the trail. With Shanks’ position and infamy, Tesla wouldn’t dare question him, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near Apple Island now that he knew where their little community stood in the scheme of the world.

                Tesla fumed for a moment, but took a deep breath and stood. His ears were turning red and Mac wondered if he was going to rupture a vein somewhere. He was angry, but he was also scared of Shanks – especially after than last outburst that Mac wasn’t entirely convinced DIDN’T have any King’s Ambition thrown in for flavor.

                Especially when he noticed there was a wet spot on the crotch of the science pirate’s pants.

                “Curie. We’re leaving.”

                Curie, who’d been scared speechless during the entire exchange, nodded quickly and was out the door before her captain. Tesla gave one last look at the captain of the Red Hair Pirates before swallowing and making a hasty exit out the mayor’s front door, mumbling a hasty “good day” before closing the door behind him.

                Mac watched them leave, waiting several moments before letting out the breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. “Thank you, Shanks,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that so soon after getting here.” Mac rubbed his temples. “Most pirates catch a glimpse of your flag flying and turn tail and run.”

                Shanks shook his head. “It isn’t your fault, Mac, and as long as no one got hurt – well, at least not MORE hurt – so let’s not sweat it too much anymore. It’s a little foggy out – he probably didn’t see the flag. I’m going to have more made so Apple and the other islands have something to fly closer to the shoreline so we don’t get a repeat of this incident elsewhere. I’ve got Ms. Elstar and Mr. Braeburn keeping an eye on their ship – once they leave they’re going to report here to let me know. If so much as a rotten apple was pillaged I will not let that go unpunished.” The pirate captain stood and walked towards the window, glancing outside to ensure the scientists were gone. He studied the outside for a few moments, nodded, and turned to the mayor. “So, now that Tesla and his minion think they’re dead I’d like to see them. Where are they?”

                “How did you know, anyways?” asked Mac. “I mean, about our guests?”

                “Like I said, I spoke with Ria and Braeburn already – they were armed and on their way here and filled me in on what’s going on. As soon as I heard it was Tesla, I had a suspicion and asked them to describe your guests for me,” he said. He crossed his arm over his chest, hung his head, and sighed. “You know Tesla only hits pirates, right?”

                “Yeah – are they yours?”

                “No, Tesla’s terrified of me and my peers,” said Shanks. He sighed, taking a seat for a moment. “But I know who they are and I know their captain – he’s a good guy and has been going crazy trying to find them. I honestly didn’t think I’d encounter them, much less after I heard Tesla was the one that got to them. Poor things. Tesla’s an asshole.” He passed. “No. More like the asshole of another asshole.”

                The mayor looked forlornly at the stairs. “They don’t seem like pirates. They’ve been very gracious since they got here – the young man has even cooked for me. If you hadn’t told me I would have had no way of knowing.” Shanks only smiled knowingly, and Mac laughed. “Although I suppose if their captain is a friend of yours . . .”

                “Yeah, I don’t think he’s the type to make friends with monsters. If they’re in his crew, I believe they’re good people and I trust them completely while they’re on this island. Besides, you’re the guy who’s feeding and housing them after they were tortured for a year – gratitude is the least they can give you,” said Shanks. Mac nodded, urging the pirate captain on. He invited the emperor to sit back down, and the pirate obliged as he filled him in on the details. “It was a little while back I found out – maybe about two or three months ago, something like that. I ran into an old friend of mine from way back, so I decided to pay him a visit, and he told me what was going on . . .”

_Maybe about two or three months ago, something like that . . ._

_"Aw come on, Buggy, it's been so long since we've seen each other - don't spoil the moment!"_

_Buggy glared daggers at Red Haired Shanks, who was grinning like a fool from his perch on the railing of his ship. The Red Hair Pirates had come across the Big Top, and when Shanks recognized its captain, well, of course decided that he simply HAD to pay his former crewmate a visit for old time’s sake – they could split some booze and reminisce about the days of Roger._

_But mostly split some booze._

_And by split that meant mostly Buggy’s booze._

_Or all of Buggy’s booze._

_The clown disagreed. "What do you care!? I STILL haven't forgiven you for-"_

_Shanks laughed and waved his hand at Buggy. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you lost your precious treasure map and you ate a Devil Fruit you didn’t want all because of me. Got it.” Shanks winked and patted Buggy on the shoulder, both gestures dripping with the sweet nectar of All Natural Grade A Sarcasm._

_Buggy grumbled at Shanks - he knew better than to try and chase the emperor away by force. No matter how much he disliked Shanks or wanted to extract revenge on Shanks or wanted to make his grandmother regret she'd been born for birthing the woman who birthed Shanks . . . Shanks could destroy him with a look and Buggy was smart enough to know that was not something to mess with. "Whatever. I ran into your little rubber freak friend."_

_"Yeah, I heard that he busted you out of Impel Down - I didn't know you two were friends!" said Shanks. He grinned, images of Luffy and Buggy with their arms around each other’s shoulder and laughing over nothing dancing through his head. "See? If you and Luffy can be buds then why can’t the two of us-"_

_"HE'S NOT MY FRIEND! He didn't come in there to rescue me - he went in there to rescue Portgas D. Ace and try to find his missing crewmates! We formed an alliance to find the missing brats and that’s all! My escape was a happy accident!" Buggy was fuming, but something cooled his temper, and Shanks realized that Buggy knew something heavy. "Maybe you should know what happened. . ."_

_Shanks cocked his head to the side. "About?”_

_“Luffy’s missing crewmates. You heard about that, right?”_

_The emperor nodded. Of course he had heard. Luffy’s ship had suddenly started going back and forth throughout the Grand Line, and rumor had it he was looking for a couple of crewmates who had vanished on him. “Yeah. The paper announced a while back that the World Government and the Marines think they’d dead.”_

_“We know what happened to them. Enough, I guess.”_

_The emperor sat up straight. “What happened?”_

_Buggy said only two words – there was no need for elaboration. "Tesla Pirates."_

_Shanks winced. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemies, either. "It's almost cold comfort to know that his victims rarely live longer than a few days. At least they’re at peace now-" Shanks was going to continue, but the look on Buggy’s face was somber. “Buggy, exactly how did they die?” he asked quietly._

_The clown swallowed, looking away. “They didn’t. They’re still alive.”_

_Shanks’ eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”_

_"Unfortunately, no I’m no shitting you. The girl was alive as of three weeks ago, and it sounded like the other one was alive, too," said Buggy. "That’s around nine months of living through whatever it is Tesla’s doing to them. Nine months.” The clown looked at the horizon. “I spent about a week in Impel Down, right? Maybe two. And it was awful. But they’re going through something that might be even WORSE and they’re been enduring it for a lot longer. I don’t know how the hell they’re doing it.”_

_"Buggy . . ." Shanks frowned._

_“I know you probably want to drink . . . and seeing as our crews are getting along that should be fine . . . but I’d like you to please leave once your men have had their fills. I’m going to be in my quarters for a bit – I need to be alone,” he said absently, starting to walk away from Shanks. “I’ll make sure I see you off. All right?”_

_Shanks dumbly nodded, suddenly finding his own urge to drink had vanished, too._

 

                “They belong to _that_ Luffy?” Mac asked. He had heard about Shanks’ favorite rubbery pirate, Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates who had decided he was going to be the next Pirate King when he was only seven years old. Shanks had told him the story early on in his relationship with the island, and once the Straw Hat Pirates formed Shanks had showed off his wanted poster like a proud parent.

                “ _Mac! Look – he’s already conquered the East Blue and got himself a bounty increase for, um, I don’t know what this one’s for, but he’s only been on the Grand Line for a few weeks! Next thing you know he’s going to be burning down Marine Bases and beating up Admirals! But it still feels like it was only yesterday he was drinking juice and arguing with us about how tough he was . . ._ ”

                “. . . _Shanks, are you . . . are you crying?”_

_“*sniffle* They grow up so fast, Mac, they grow up . . . *sniffle* so fast  . . .”_

                Shanks nodded, a fond smile sneaking onto his lips. “Yes. _That_ Luffy.”

                Mac looked at the ceiling, amazed that the timid, shy creatures in his guest room were really part of the Straw Hat Pirates. Maybe they were just sailors and hadn’t gotten names for themselves? That made sense. “So are they just seamen or do they hold rank?” Mac asked in wonder. “I mean, they aren’t dangerous, are they?”

                “Eh, not to you guys – like I said, Luffy wouldn’t recruit those kind of men. Or women. But if you’re asking whether or not they hold rank or have bounties, oh-ho yes they do on both accounts. Luffy doesn’t have a very big crew so there really aren’t any ‘sailors’ – everyone’s got a big job and everyone helps with sailing duties. The little lady is Luffy’s navigator and has an asking price of 16 million,” said Shanks.

                “That’s fairly low for the Grand Line,” said Mac.

                “Yeah, but the young man’s a bit more up to par – he’s the cook, but according to my friend he’s one of Luffy’s strongest men and, as such, he has a much more impressive price tag,” said Shanks. He laughed. “Luffy’s 30 million first bounty was pretty good, but this guy’s first bounty was a cool 77 million – I’m sure Luffy’s very proud of that.”

                Mac paled. “Seven . . . seventy . . .seventy . . . mah. .  . mah . . .”

 

                Shanks watched as Mac swooned and collapsed on the floor. The pirate cocked his head to the side in mild bewilderment. _Seriously, Mac, you know the kind of bounties running amuck amongst my boys – hell, you know what MY bounty is – and you’re going to faint over a measly 77 million? Come on now, I thought I knew you better than that._

                Shanks looked down at the mayor, sighed, and dragged him onto the couch. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that, well, Mac did look kind of tired, and had been probably running himself ragged trying to take care of those two AND run the island. On top of all that Tesla – not a tough pirate, but a creepy and intimidating one – shows up asking questions about people he’s trying to make better . . .

                “You’ve probably had a rough couple of days, haven’t you, Mac?” He covered the mayor with a throw blanket, made sure there was a cushion under his head, patted his shoulder (Mac groaned a little in response), and went upstairs to see Luffy’s crew. _Buggy said that they’d been held captive for nearly nine months as of about three months or so ago, and Tesla himself said they’ve been gone just a few days. I might be walking into a mess._

                Didn’t matter. Luffy was his dear friend, and he knew that the rubber man was the kind of captain who cared deeply about his crew – after all, he’d been tearing the Grand Line upside down trying to find them. And since Luffy wasn’t there to look after them while they got better, the least he should do as a man of honor was poke his head in on them to see how they were doing.

                Shanks felt a pit in his stomach. What if the situation was reversed? What if something had happened to one or more of his men as bad as a stay with the Science Pirates? And what if Luffy had been the one to stumble across them in such rough shape? The pirate closed his eyes. Luffy would have made sure they were well taken care of, and would have probably camped out in the room they were recovering in to make sure they were okay.

                He could almost see Luffy sitting crossed legged on a chair next to a bed with one of his men – maybe Benn or Yasopp or Lucky – nestled within. He didn’t think Luffy would know much about how to care for a person that sick (he might TRY but it wouldn’t do any good, Shanks guessed), but he would stay there so they wouldn’t have to be alone, maybe hold their hand or try to say something encouraging, like how it was going to be okay and that they were going to make it. He’d tell them that he would find a way to get their captain to them and then it would be all right.

                Shanks found the room easily. There was a pair of twin sized beds, both empty, but he could sense a pair of shivering pirates under the far bed. He closed his eyes. _They must have heard everything._ Shanks sat cross legged on the bed not being used as a hiding place and tried to coax them out. “I won’t hurt you – I’m a friend of Luffy’s. Come on, Sanji, Nami, its safe now.”

 

                _. . . he just said my name._

_. . . I thought I’d never hear it again._

 

                Two cautious heads peeked out from under the other bed. Neither of them looked particularly like their wanted poster, but Shanks recognized Sanji’s left eyebrow (which looked oddly thin . . . and was strangely enough not symmetrical to his other eyebrow) and Nami’s eyes. They were quiet, staring at him nervously. They seemed a little happy to see him, and using their names had helped, but they had clearly been distraught over Tesla’s arrival at Mac’s.

                Shanks smiled and pulled out their wanted posters. He’d started carrying them around, just in case, after Buggy told them what happened to them. “These are you guys, right?” he said. They took each other’s posters and sat on the other bed, staring at them like they were looking at a lost friend. Shanks cocked his head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

                Nami traced the name on the poster. “Sanji-kun.”

                Sanji held the other poster to his chest. “Nami-san.”

                The young woman recognized him first. “You’re Shanks – you’re the one who gave Luffy his hat.”

                Shanks smiled. “Ah, so he talks about me?”

                Nami sat up and Sanji followed suit. “He never lets anything happen to that hat. If he thinks it might get hurt he always gave it to one of us for safe keeping.” She paused, the thought of captain putting mist in her eyes. Shanks frowned – she probably missed Luffy and was probably shaken up and broken from whatever Tesla had done to her, not to mention terrified that she’d heard her tormentor downstairs.

                Sanji put a nervous hand on her shoulder. Nami quieted, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck as the cook absently started to talk. “Luffy would lay down his life to protect any of us. Please, don’t be mad at him. We just got taken by someone he couldn’t find – if he could have found us, Tesla and Curie would have been dead a long time ago.”

                Shanks shook his head. “It’s okay – Tesla’s a slippery snake. Luffy’s determined and loyal to a fault but that so called ‘scientist’ can be tough to track,” he said. He leaned back and propped one ankle over his other knee. “But it’s not for his lack of trying. He’s been tearing up and down the Grand Line trying to find you two. He isn’t exactly sitting around twiddling his thumbs.”

                They exchanged a look. Memories of nightmares and hallucinations of the other Straw Hats being glad they were gone had vanished in an instant, almost as if they hadn’t happened at all. “They didn’t give up,” said Sanji. He turned to Shanks.  “Is this in the papers, or did you find out some other way? Have you talked with Luffy?”

                “Not with Luffy – with Buggy the Clown.”

                “Buggy?” asked Nami. “What he’s – there’s no way Buggy is helping Luffy. He HATES Luffy.”

                “True,” said Shanks, his lips curling into a grin before he laughed. “But, well, Luffy has something Buggy wants and the clown’s smart enough to know he’s not going to get it from Luffy by force. Nami, do you remember the arm band you gave Luffy?” The navigator paused to think about it, then nodded. “Turns out it’s got something to do with a treasure Buggy’s been trying to hunt down. Luffy doesn’t want to give it up because you gave it to him, so I guess someone got the idea to give Buggy the armband. . . IF he can bring the two of you to Luffy alive and well.”

                “That thing was a treasure map?” asked Sanji.

                _The old me would have never let Luffy have it if I knew THAT – but I don’t care about that anymore, and I guess I should be glad I didn’t keep it after all,_ Nami thought to herself. She didn’t want to think of what she would have done with it, but she was glad it was such a precious thing to Luffy. “That explains why Buggy’s helping Luffy. Because there’s no way he’d help out of the kindness of his heart of something.”

                “He did mention a couple of things that had come up during talks between the crews,” said Shanks. “But before we get into that are you guys hungry? I can go make us some sandwiches – Mac’s usually got a well stocked fridge and I’ll pay him back for it later. I’m sure he’s been feeding you but I don’t think extra food is going to do any harm, right?”

                “You want to make us sandwiches?” asked Sanji.

                “I’m not a very good cook, Mac’s passed out downstairs – don’t worry, he’ll be fine, I think he just had a little too much excitement for one night – and sandwiches are SIMPLE,” Shanks said with a laugh. “The two of you are a bit too skinny, so let’s get some meat back on your bones and we’ll come up with a plan of attack once I get back, all right?” Sanji and Nami dumbly nodded. Shanks smiled, winked, and headed out of the room.

                “We’re not high right now, right?” Sanji said dryly.

                “Why would you ask that?” Nami asked.

                “Because one of the Four Emperors is making us sandwiches.”


	8. Bon Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji and Nami learn more about Apple Island's situation. A plan it set in motion to find Luffy. As Shanks leaves the island, Mac and the other islanders light a bon fire for the cook and navigator.

                Shanks returned sometime later with a plate of poorly made sandwiches and a pitcher of ice water balanced on a single tray. “Thank you,” said Nami. She and Sanji sat on the edge of the bed, choosing which of the sandwiches they wanted. As she settled on two pieces of white bread holding a badly mangled piece of turkey, she looked at the emperor in worry. “Is Mac okay?”

                “He’ll be okay – he just needs his beauty sleep is all.”

                Nami looked at the emperor in curiosity. “I have to ask – why, exactly, is Mac flying your flag?”

                “Yeah – wouldn’t that get them in trouble with the Marines?” asked Sanji.

                Shanks crossed his legs. “It’s not at all uncommon among the other pirates in my league to have entire islands or sometimes small archipelagos considered their ‘territory’.  Apple Island is part of my territory, which means most pirates are too scared of retribution to even come within spitting distance of this place, the World Government mostly ignores islands like this because the response it would get from someone like me in retaliation would be a huge mess . . . and they don’t trade with anyone other than other islands under my protection.”

                “And what do you get out of it?” Nami asked. Sanji swallowed, seeing where she was coming from. He frowned. Of course Nami wasn’t going to like the idea of a pirate lording over an island of innocent people and controlling their trade. Even if Shanks had saved them, this revelation wasn’t going to sit well with her. At all.

                _I guess even the scars Tesla left aren’t enough to make us forget our other traumas. . ._

                Shanks smiled. “Free booze! It’s great! Sometimes we have parties with the villagers – don’t get me wrong, my boys and I can have a great time on our own, but it’s way more fun with more people! And sometimes it’s just nice to have a quiet, normal place to go. It’s cold here now, but during the warmer months it’s nice to wander into the orchards, find a nice spot with a bottle of wine, and drink and reminisce.”

                Nami paled. “Alcohol? Parties? And wandering around drunk in an apple orchard?”

                “What else would I want? I mean yeah they give us a good discount on meat and apples and stuff, too, but they’re good people. I like them. Especially Mac – he doesn’t have the constitution for it and I don’t think he’d take to the lifestyle, but he’s got some tough as nails determination that I look for in my men. I respect that.”

                “And not letting them trade with other islands?”

                Shanks shook his head. “It’s more the other way around – the other islands don’t like trading with them. I mean, okay, a few islands under the flag of the other emperors once in a while, yeah, and SOMETIMES a particularly ballsy merchant trader will stop in port for like, a few hours, but personally I don’t care who they trade with – it’s their stuff, I just want a few barrels of booze a month for protection.”

                “Wait, just a few barrels?” asked Sanji. “I’ve heard of emperors charging a lot more than that.”

                “Well, if they want to be assholes about it, then yeah – Big Mom charges highway robbery for her protection. But my goal isn’t to run the island into the ground, and the price of protection was something Mac and I negotiated on – definitely enough to be worth my time but not so much it would break the island’s economy, and even then if they’re a little short I don’t give a shit, they can get me a little extra next time or something else or whatever,” said Shanks. He shrugged. “I’m guessing the little lady has had some bad experiences with pirate run islands?”

                “Yeah, I have,” she said. “When I was little, the Fishman Pirates took over my island and demanded 100,000 berries per adults and 50,000 per child on the island a month, and he killed anyone who couldn’t pay.” She closed her eyes. “My mother couldn’t pay for our family, so Arlong killed her. And then he made a bum deal with me that if I could raise 100 million berries he would let me buy back my village and leave us alone.”

                Shank reached over and took Nami’s hands. “I promise you that what we have here is nothing like what happened to your village. You can ask Mac to back me up on this but here is my arrangement with the islanders. Over the course of the year, without any influence from me, they produce about one thousand barrels of hard cider. That’s just the alcoholic stuff – not counting the soft stuff so the kids have something to drink, not counting the apples they use for eating and pies and feeding their livestock, and not counting everything else anyone here does for their livelihood, like Miss Ria’s sewing shop or Braeburn’s smithy. In exchange for protecting their island, I get 100 barrels of that cider a year – anything more and we gotta pay for it. That’s it.” Shanks was nodding along as he spoke, gently speaking with Nami. “No price per head on the island. No killing people if they can only get me 99 barrels – hell, if they have a bad harvest I don’t care if all they can get me is one barrel. I see these people as friends, and I take care of my friends.”

                The navigator seemed to relax, satisfied that this wasn’t like what happened to her island. Shanks seemed like he honestly was more interested in partying with these people, not screwing them over. “You said you wanted to talk with us more . . . I guess you want to know what happened on Tesla’s ship,” she said softly. Sanji squeezed her hand. “

                Shanks stared at the last sandwich sadly. “Well, based on some information Buggy told me, your crew was worried you’d been force fed Devil Fruits,” he said. As soon as he’d mentioned the Devil Fruits, he watched the other pirates hesitate to respond, but by the way they looked at each other and the way their hands were shaking, he knew he had his answer.  His voice lowered. “So he did.”

                Nami put her hand over her stomach. “He had us held down and forced our jaws open while his cronies shoved them into our mouths and made us bite down.” She clenched her eyes shut. “There were a lot of seastone restraints in the beginning to keep us from using them to fight back. But after a while we . . . kind of lost the will to fight back. We were tired of being hurt for fighting back . . . he even tried to take our names away from us.” Now she was rubbing the back of her neck, tearing a little. “And for a while . . . he did. Just a few minutes ago, when you told us to come out . . . that was the first time we’ve heard our own names in months . . . even from each other.”

                _Ria had mentioned they were mum about their names . . . son of a bitch, Tesla, really?_

                “I think this is good enough for now,” Shanks said, choosing his words carefully. Normally he wouldn’t treat anyone on Luffy’s crew so delicately, but these two were pretty badly damaged goods. _There’s no telling if they’ll ever be well enough to join their captain again. Even if most of the others died . . . these two may be suffering from the worst fate._  “I’m going to talk with some of my men to lay out some ideas for what we’re going to do next. You two will definitely have a say in what happens to you but for now you probably need some rest.”

                The pair looked at him with unsure eyes. Shanks closed his eyes and shook his head. “Luffy is a good man. He had his flaws and I’m sure you know that, but he defends what he cherishes to the death.” Shanks turned his head to where his arm used to be. “Sometimes people ask me why I’m not bothered I only have one arm. Sure it’s a little harder to do some things but I think I’m doing pretty well for anyone, never mind a one armed man.”

                Nami stared at him. “I don’t get it.”

                Shanks smiled. “So he never told you,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat and began to tell them a story. “When Luffy was just a kid, my crew was staying in his home town. He liked us, we were his friends, and one day he got really mad at us for not standing up to a bunch of thugs who came into our hangout. I think we got into a fight with him or something, but you know what he did? Even though we were mad at each other, when those thugs came back . . . Luffy defended us. A seven year old kid stood up to a band of mountain bandits who were all twice his size or bigger.” He closed his eyes. “We stepped in to try and keep something from happening to him, but he got dragged away anyways. And in the process of getting him back . . .”

                Sanji felt his hands start to shake. “You lost your arm . . . to save Luffy.”

                “Yeah. That’s the short version of it,” said Shank.

                “Sanji-kun?” Nami asked,

                Memories of seeing Zeff without his leg for the first time flooded Sanji’s head. He was crying, but he couldn’t talk. Nami put a hand on his shoulder and was looking at him in confusion, but all the young man could see was images of his foster father, and it was making his stomach churn. He put his face in his hands.

                “No, no, seriously, it’s okay! I get along just fine without it! I’m one of the Four Emperors!”

                “It’s not that,” Sanji said. He closed his eyes. “It just hit home. Someone I care about lost a leg.”

                Shanks stood, patting Sanji on the head. “Are they doing okay?”

                “He owns the best restaurant in the entire East Blue,” he said.

                “. . . you don’t mean Red Foot Zeff.” 

                Sanji nodded. “He adopted me when I was ten. And it was my fault he lost his leg. We didn’t always get along . . . we fought most of the time, especially once I got older . . . but we cared about each other. He was basically my dad, and I spent too much time arguing with him and not even time respecting him and trying to make our dysfunctional little family work . . .”

                Shanks hugged Sanji, surprising the young man and startling him. It snapped him back into reality, making him realize how wet and salty his cheeks were. “I’m sure he knows, and I’m sure he misses you. But you have to trust me on this one – right now, the best thing for the two of you to do is stay here on the island and let the world think you’re dead until you’ve had a chance to recover – if you even decide to go back to Luffy. You’ve got a long road to recovery ahead of you, and most of its going to be up here,” he said, pointing at his head, and then to his chest, “and in here. You’re going to gain back all the weight you lost pretty easily, and your hair will grow back, and the withdrawal will get better and better, and all that will probably happen soon enough. But emotionally? That’s going to take time, patience, and support.”

                Sanji and Nami let that sink in. Shanks was right – right now, they had to stay on the island. They were in no shape to go looking for Luffy anytime soon, and even if he did show up they wouldn’t be able to go with him. The only way they were safe from Tesla is if he thought they were dead or someone else killed him first. Shanks was going to find Luffy, sure, but they didn’t know how long that was going to take.

                The sound of the door opening and closing downstairs could be heard, followed by Ria shrieking. Shanks sighed. “One moment – it looks like my reconnaissance team is back and I need to go sort things out with them.” He politely excused himself and disappeared out into the hallway, calling after the blacksmith and seamstress to “chill the fuck out”.

 

                Sometime after Shanks left, Mac had woken up, Gala had shown up, and everyone but the mayor and the doctor were chased out of the house (despite Ria’s protests). After giving his patients a quick exam to make sure they were okay and giving them warm milk to help them relax, the doctor also prepared to return home.

                “You’re not mad at us, are you?” asked Sanji, lying in his own bed with his milk in both hands.

                Gala shook his head as he pulled his coat on. “Think nothing of it,” he said. He smoothed out the garment and began circling his scarf around his neck. “Not all pirates and evil, and even if you had told me I don’t think I would has suspected you were the evil type. Even if that wasn’t enough, Shanks has given me his word that he has a lot of respect for your captain and trusts the two of you based on that alone.”

                Nami put down her finished mug on the nightstand. “You guys must really trust Shanks.”

                The doctor closed his, chuckling lightly. “I’m more loyal to him than my own king,” he said. Gala sighed and turned to them. “Get some rest. Shanks will be back in the morning and I’m sure he’s going to want to talk with you some more – I think whether they’re wanted or not Miss Elstar and Mr. Braeburn will be back as well.”

                “Shanks said they were watching . . . that man’s . . . ship,” said Sanji.

                “They spotted the ship and realized what he was after. There are two things defending this island when Shanks and his men are away. Usually, all we need is the first line of defense – the flag of the Red Hair Pirates,” said Gala. “Just its presence is warning enough to most who try to bother the island – I doubt Shanks needed to do much more than just intimidate your tormentor away.”

                “And the other?” asked Nami.

                “Miss Elstar and Mr. Braeburn are both trained in combat and the only ones on the island – aside from, perhaps, the two of you – who have any specialized training of the sort. Prior to the event that led to Shanks coming to this island, there was nothing like that here. There is a sheriff, but an exciting day for him is taking care of a rowdy drunk, and there was never a Marine base here. Certainly the island was aware of the piracy on the Grand Line, but for whatever reason our island was almost never visited by pirates and when it was no serious incidents happened – they drank, traded, and left. Over the years those who knew how to handle weapons grew out of practice, out of shape, or died.”

                “What happened that led to Shanks protecting this island?” Sanji asked.

                “I wasn’t here at the time and I don’t know all of the details, but the island was attacked and devastated by pirates – as I explained before, no one knew how to fight and the only one who stood his ground was Mac. I don’t suppose the two of you noticed his limp?” he said. This caught the attention of the young pirates. “Mac didn’t stand a chance, but he stood his ground anyways. So one of them took out his knee, and they kept him alive to watch the carnage.”

                “Mac . . .” said Nami.

                “That didn’t last too long – Shanks and his men had been on the other side of the island, having heard rumors about how good the hard apple cider here was and wanting to, well, get drunk. Naturally there was a lot of noise going on where the other pirates had landed, and when Shanks and his men went to investigate, saw what happened with Mac, and, well, they were impressed by his guts. Mac’s never been very physically apt, but doing what he did required a lot of bravery. So Shanks and his men took care of the rest of the pirates, one thing led to another, and the island has been flying under his flag ever since.”

                “And Ria and Braeburn?” asked Sanji. He sat up, leaning on his knees. “I saw Braeburn’s war hammer when I was at the forge last night, but Ria doesn’t seem the type – does she fight with fabric or something? Does she have a fabric Devil Fruit or something?” He furrowed his brow in thought. “Or maybe she sews her opponents together?”

                Gala raised an eyebrow. “She uses nitoryu – two sword style fighting. And no neither of them has any Devil Fruit abilities,” he said dryly. “Of course since then Mac and Shanks organized a small militia to defend the island should someone try to cause an incident – a few of his men train them whenever they stop by the island. They certainly aren’t anything much, but Shanks thinks they’re good enough to hold off the average pirate crew on the Grand Line, especially with the talents of our seamstress and blacksmith backing them up.”

                “But that doesn’t make any sense,” said Nami. “You said no one on the island could fight.”

                The doctor shook his head. “That’s correct – those two weren’t here eight years ago. Neither was I, for that matter,” said Gala. He shook his head. “It’s getting late and I think it’s important the two of you get some rest so I’ll save the details for another day, but as you can imagine this island doesn’t see a lot of visitors or newcomers aside from the occasional newborn baby. Since Shanks took over the island there’s only been a handful of people who’ve moved here, and it’s always an unusual circumstance that brings them.”

                “Like us,” said Sanji.

                Gala patted both of their shoulders. “Don’t worry about that right now – your first priority is getting well. Shanks will be by again tomorrow – I’m sure he wants to talk more with the two of you to figure out what he wants to do next. In the meantime I’m going to head home for the night, one of you is going to hop into the other’s bed, and we’re all going to get a good night’s rest.”

                Sanji and Nami glanced away from Gala, giving him an awkward good night. The doctor turned off the lights and then they did exactly what he said they were going to do. The cook climbed into the navigator’s bed and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on the pillow he’d dragged from “his” bed.

                “Why can’t we sleep if we aren’t together?” asked Nami.

                “We did it for almost a year – our bodies are probably used to it or something,” said Sanji. “And I don’t know about you but Tesla almost finding us . . . I’m still scared. I don’t want to try breaking that habit tonight.” He squeezed her tighter, and Nami could feel he was tense. “Besides, everything we had before Tesla took us is gone – you’re the only thing I have left from my old life.”

                Nami nodded. “Right now, you are my most precious treasure.”

                “Coming from you that means a lot.”

                “Yeah, well, right now I’m not sure treasure is doing it for me anymore.”

                “I hear you there. Ria’s pretty hot but she isn’t doing anything for me.”

                Nami patted his cheek. “It’s okay.”

                Sanji frowned, looking away from her. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, actually.”

                Something wasn’t right with the cook. He looked lost. He was right – Ria was pretty, sure, but he hadn’t reacted to her the way he usually did. At first Nami thought that was, well, maybe a good thing, but now she was worried. Sure, she didn’t feel the need to hoard treasure anymore, but she didn’t want to reject the idea of financial security completely. _Sanji-kun, are you . . .?_

                In that moment it didn’t matter. For the moment they were safe and that monster couldn’t touch them. He didn’t even know they were alive, because now the whole world was going to think they were dead. This was their chance to get better – they’d figure out everything that needed to get fixed as they went along. “All right,” she said.

                The laid there in silence, holding each other until they fell asleep.

 

                The following morning, Shanks brought over a stack of wanted posters reflecting the Straw Hat’s current associates and members. Sanji and Nami saw that Ace had apparently allied himself with Luffy at some point, and for some reason Mr. 2 Bon Clay was in the stack as well. Nearly everyone had gotten some kind of bounty increase, and Brook had gotten an updated photo.

                “Not long before the two of you went missing, Ace ended up in Impel Down,” Shanks explained. “Luffy and your crew broke in and busted him out, but I suspect that they were also looking for the two of you in there as well. Everyone except your weird looking antler dog got a bounty increase and they picked up that Mr. 2 character.”

                “The ‘weird looking antler dog’ is a reindeer who ate the Human Human Fruit,” Nami explained.

                “Oh?” said Shanks.

                “Yeah. He’s actually our ship’s doctor,” said Sanji.

                “. . . yeah that sounds like something Luffy would pick up,” said Shanks. He crossed his legs. “I thought you guys might want something, even if it’s just pictures from their wanted posters. You’ve got a big pile of nothing right now so . . .” He looked away, nervous. “I’m sorry, was that rude?”

                “It’s true,” said Nami. “Everything we have right now has been charity.”

                “We’ll find a way to make it up,” said Sanji.

                Shanks thought about this. “Actually, that’s not a half bad idea,” he said. “Think about it. You guys are going to be here a long time, yes? I’m not saying you need to run out NOW, but you’re probably better off trying to integrate with the other people on the island – you know, blend in a little. And that will probably warrant jobs and places to live – or a place to live, if you wanted to share a space.”

                “Yeah, we can probably do that,” said Nami. She tried to hold back a grimace. _Sanji-kun was a chef before he became a pirate, but what could I do? They probably already have maps of the island, they probably don’t need a navigator . . . what the hell am I going to do? I don’t have any skills that would get me a job here!_ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Worry about it later – you and Sanji-kun still have a lot of healing to do._

“Sounds reasonable,” said Sanji. He shuffled through the wanted posters. “I probably want to get back into the swing of things – Luffy isn’t a picky eater, but he definitely has his favorites.” He chuckled. “Braeburn was telling me there are some small restaurants and cafes on the island – I can probably find work at one of those places, yes?”

                “Probably,” said Shanks. “And you, Miss Nami?”

                “Nami is fine, and I’ll figure something out,” she said. She was a little nervous though, and not just about finding employment on Apple Island once she was healthy enough to find it. Nami was clutching the edges of Robin’s poster, but keeping her eyes on Ace and Mr. 2’s posters. She wondered what made Ace decide to leave Whitebeard’s services, and more importantly, where the former Baroque Works agent fit into things. _Did Luffy replace us? I guess he would need a navigator and cook to keep things running smoothly in our absence . . ._

                Shanks didn’t notice Nami’s distress. “Hey, so, I want to introduce you guys to three of my best men. Although I definitely think it would be good for you guys to get out and about on the island once you’re doing better, I don’t think it’s a good idea for too many people on my ship to know about you guys to keep the risk of you getting found out as down as possible.”

                “But your three best men you’d like to have in on this,” said Sanji, trying to act like he wasn’t paying extra attention to Zoro’s wanted poster. “Because you need some help in finding Luffy and the others.” Shanks nodded, stood, and politely excused himself to fetch these men he spoke of.

 

                Shanks returned and introduced Sanji and Nami to his three most trusted men (a tall man with a gun named Benn Beckham, a fat man who was constantly eating named Lucky Roux, and a marksman with dreadlocks named Yasopp), and at that point the pair remembered something INCREDIBLY important about one of them.

                Nami gasped. “You’re Usopp’s dad!”

                Shanks was about to go into something about their game plan to find Luffy when the outburst happened. Nami covered her mouth with her hands, worried she’d done something wrong, but it was comforting to see someone who looked a little like Usopp. She could mostly see it in his eyes and his smile, and it was almost enough to bring her to tears.

                “You . . . know my boy?” asked Yasopp.

                Seeing that Nami wasn’t quite composed, Sanji stepped in. “He’s one of us,” he explained. Yasopp was staring at the two of them dreamily, anxious to hear more about his son. “He’s actually been with Luffy longer than I have, and he used to talk about you and how much be wants to be like you all the time.”

                “He’s really smart – he’s an inventor and a handyman. He made my weapon – it’s a metal pole that produces hot and cold air to create small storm systems,” said Nami. “He’s kind of a genius when it comes to stuff like that. And an amazing sniper! He even beat Daddy the Father in a sniper’s duel with a slingshot!”

                Yasopp was beaming. “That’s amazing!”

                Sanji grinned, shuffling through the wanted posters for Sogeking’s poster. “Here’s his wanted poster – Sogeking is sort of . . . it’s complicated, but anytime Sogeking does something it’s really Usopp.” He handed the poster to Yasopp, who was looking at it with tears in his eyes. Proud, manly tears.

                “He’s got his mother’s nose,” he said, wiping away some of the stray tears.

                Benn patted Yasopp’s shoulder. “There, there.”

                Lucky Roux ripped into another leg of something (turkey, maybe?). “So let’s send Yasopp.”

                “Hn?” asked Shanks.

                “Well, remember when you left Luffy all those years ago you said you didn’t want to meet with him until he became a great pirate?” asked Benn. “I think Sanji and Nami will agree that, for Luffy, this is nothing less than taking Roger’s crown and declaring himself the King of the Pirates. So, really, you shouldn’t be the one to go looking for him.”

                “That’s a point,” said Shanks, looking like he was just realizing this.

                “So then we can send Yasopp out on a private errand – it would keep the Marines and Tesla from getting suspicious, too. Sending out Yasopp and a handful of guys for a private search party isn’t anything suspect, but you and the flagship trying to find Luffy is going to raise all kinds of red flags we don’t want up,” said Benn. “Yasopp never made any kind of promise to keep himself from Usopp and it might be good for them to see each other after so many years apart.”

                “An act of good faith – sending someone on Shanks’ crew with a personal tie to one of ours will add legitimacy to Yasopp’s claim for the rest of the crew who doesn’t know and trust Shanks like Luffy does,” said Sanji. “There’s no way Shanks would know to send Yasopp if Nami and I hadn’t told you guys Usopp was one of ours.”

                “I would have probably sent Benn instead – being the first mate and all,” said Shanks.

                “So we send Yasopp as our proof of like for Sanji and Nami,” said Benn. “All agreed?”

                Yasopp looked at Shanks excitedly. Clearly, he wanted to see his son.

                Shanks nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

                One day later, Yasopp and a handful of Shanks’ men left the island to look for Luffy.

                Two days after that, Shanks and the rest of his crew prepared to leave.

                Shanks’ ship was still visible from the cliff side near Mac’s home. Bundled up in coats and blankets and with Cobbler lying at their feet, Sanji and Nami watched privately as the Red Hair Pirates left. Nami rested her head on Sanji’s shoulder, closing her eyes as she gripped the blanket over her shoulders.

                Cobbler whuffed in the silence. Nami cracked a small grin as she reached down to scratch him behind the ears. Sanji joined her, and the dog licked his hand. They continued to watch as the ship got farther and farther away, until it was nothing more than a little speck of light on the horizon. Nami and Sanji grabbed each other’s hands and squeezed.

                They barely noticed Mac, Gala, Ria, and Braeburn show up just as the light of Shanks’ ship vanished, now too far away to see. Cobbler did take notice, however, and barked a greeting. Sanji and Nami turned to their hosts, to see Ria balancing a tray of hot, spiced apple cider, Gala and Braeburn were carrying chopped wood – firewood – and Mac was carrying some sort of bag. The mayor extended the bag towards them as the doctor and blacksmith started to piece together a fire.

                Sanji and Nami opened the bag and paled at its contents. The thin, sickly colored hospital gowns that scientist had dressed them in – it was what they’d been wearing when they’d escaped, and for some reason the islanders hadn’t gotten rid of them. The gowns still smelled like Tesla’s ship, and the scent brought back some of the horrible memories. Being tied down for hours on end, being thrown in the Tank for poor behavior or receiving electric shocks to get them to stop saying their own names, and spending every night in that cold, lonely little cell with only each other for comfort.

                Sanji and Nami understood why they’d been given these things. The bon fire wasn’t being lit for warmth, it was being lit for a different purpose. Mac and Ria looked at them with sad eyes as Gala and Braeburn stepped away from the flames. Sanji and Nami looked at each other, slowly nodded, and pulled the shirts from the bag. They gripped each other’s hands tightly as they approached the now roaring fire.

                They tossed the shirts in.

                The shirts ignited quickly, and they had to step back to avoid getting burnt. Watching the fibers blacken and curl and shrink was somewhat satisfying, though. They hugged as the hospital gowns withered away into ashes, flying up into the night sky where they would never have to see them again, where they couldn’t remind them of the horrors they’d endured.

                Now they could pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> As some of you may or may not be aware this entire series I've been posting over the last few weeks has been a work in progress for a long time, but now the AO3 version is finally caught up to my Livejournal and Fanfiction.Net accounts! So the next chapter posted here will be brand new material (cross-posted to the other locations, of course).
> 
> Now before we get onto the next act, I want some feedback from you guys so I can see what’s working, what’s not working, and what’s keeping you coming back for more. Obviously I can’t make you answer these questions but I’d appreciate it if you did:
> 
> Of the original characters (Mac, Gala, Ria, Braeburn, Cobbler, the twins), which is your favorite and why? Is there a character you actively dislike (this is different from a least favorite as you can still like a least favorite)?
> 
> What is your favorite part of Mass x Acceleration so far?
> 
> What is your LEAST favorite part of Mass x Acceleration so far?
> 
> Do you have any predictions for the story based on what you’ve read? This can include anything you might have picked up from the other stories (A Force Against Inertia, “Sought”, or “Vanished”) as well.
> 
> Thanks to anyone out there who's reading!


	9. The Daily Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami gets a job offer, learns more about Ria's past, and finds maybe the only thing she and Sanji haven't discussed before.

                It had been about a month since Sanji and Nami had washed up on Apple Island.

                During those weeks, Mac and his new roommates had developed something of a routine. While the mayor was away during the day tending to the day to day needs of the island, Sanji and Nami minded his house, splitting up various household tasks to keep themselves busy. It wasn’t hard – Mac didn’t have a very messy house and Gala didn’t want them doing too much work just yet anyways, but it was something to do to pass the time while they recovered and waited for their captain.

                Naturally, Sanji did most of the cooking, but with the weather still cold and everyone but the blacksmith and seamstress thinking it was too soon to send them into town, he wasn’t the one doing any of the food shopping. They wanted to get out into town, but Gala wanted to err on the side of caution with them, something they supposed was understandable.

                That didn’t mean they couldn’t have visitors.

                “Where are the twins? Aren’t you usually towing them along?” asked Nami. Ria had stopped by the mayor’s house after a delivery and been invited to have some tea. Sanji was busy in the kitchen working on lunch while the girls sat in the living room. Although sitting down to tea with another woman reminded Nami of her days with the other Straw Hats, she kept glancing in the kitchen to confirm Sanji was still there, unsure of how to feel knowing that he wasn’t spinning around the two of them spouting dorky declarations of love.

                She knew that things between her and Sanji were . . . different . . . now. They took each other more seriously and were definitely closer than she’d ever imagined they would get, but he wasn’t actively hitting on her anymore and sometimes she wondered if it was because she wasn’t pretty anymore. She was still very thin, her breasts several cup sizes smaller and sagging more than she would have liked on her nineteen year old frame. Her hair was still very short and something unhealthy looking, which the only fix for the moment was a wig that didn’t quite fit or look right (although Gala was giving them some herbs to try and promote faster, healthier hair growth). She just didn’t feel pretty anymore and she really couldn’t blame Sanji if he felt the same, really. 

                Then again, the seamstress was fairly attractive – definitely pretty enough to catch the old love cook’s attention – but Sanji only gave her polite, quiet greetings and mostly didn’t interact with her. Nami knew it wasn’t the presence of her children, which she assumed would scare off most suitors. True, Sanji probably didn’t want children yet. However, as far as they knew Sanji was still sterile and it would probably be a while before he could have them again, assuming it wasn’t permanent, so there was a good chance that his only chance to be a father was adoption or taking over where someone else had left off.

                But ignoring the issue of children, Ria was a very curvy woman and had a smooth, pretty face with sharp green eyes and dark eyelashes. She always dressed smartly (even if it was just a blouse and jeans), applied make-up competently, and walked with a confident sway to her hips. She was definitely an attractive woman, so Sanji’s failure to acknowledge that was a little concerning.

                For him, anyways.

                She remembered Sanji’s words from the night Shanks had saved them from Tesla. _Maybe he just needs to sort some things out for himself . . . maybe he doesn’t feel very attractive anymore, either._ Nami had to admit – for all of his faults (and there were plenty), Sanji was a pretty good looking guy. He was far and away the best dressed of the Straw Hat men, had a cute smile, and she’d seen him without a shirt on occasion – not a bad site to behold. But he’d lost a lot of weight, too, maybe more than she had, and the paleness could be a little unsettling, she guessed.

                “Play date,” Ria responded, bring Nami back to the conversation at hand. She shrugged. “It’s good for them to interact with other kids, you know? I mean it’s nice that they have each other and all but dealing with children raised by other people is probably good for their development, sugah.” She sighed. “Besides, it’s nice to have the break. I love my babies but I’m raising them alone and I’m outnumbered.”

                “Whatever happened to your husband?” asked Nami.

                Ria looked down, and Nami wondered if she’d gone too far. “I was never married.”

                Nami put her tea down. “Seriously?”

                “I don’t want to get into the details but let’s call what happened a one night stand,” said Ria. She laughed. “It figures, you know? Twins. I think I was about ready to kill Gala when he told me there was another baby coming – when I was in labor, that is, because I didn’t know I was having twins until it was time for me to deliver Sundae. I was trying to figure out how I was going to raise one by myself, and then I all of a sudden had two?” She sighed. “Braeburn and I discussed getting hitched to help me out, but I pointed out that it might cause more problems than it solved.”

                “Because it would be a mixed race marriage?” Nami asked. “I mean, I don’t have a problem-“

                “Oh, I didn’t think you did, and believe me, I don’t have any qualms about it, either, sugah, but, well . . . my babies are pale little girls. Braeburn and I wouldn’t be fooling ANYBODY. And second . . . I love Braeburn, I really do, but I don’t love him the way a wife is supposed to love a husband, and I don’t think he loves me that way, either. It would be weird trying to fuck each other.”

                Nami stared at Ria, who was casually drinking her tea like she hadn’t just talked about the implausibility of “fucking” her best friend. Apparently no one ever bothered to teach her about tact. Then again, that probably described the Straw Hats to a certain degree as well. She decided to shrug it off and continue with her tea.

                “It’s not like I haven’t dated since coming here – I’ve been on a couple of date but between the shop and the girls I just don’t have a lot of time for it,” she said. “But that’s okay. I’m not that old yet – I’m twenty-two for gosh sakes.”

                Nami’s eyes widened. “You’re not that much older than us. Sanji-kun’s going to be twenty-one in a few days, and I’m nineteen.” She looked at her hands – they looked like the hands of someone much older than nineteen. “I feel so much older, though. I must look it, too.”

                “Don’t talk like that,” said Ria, rubbing her arm. “Time. It’s all you need.”

 

                Sanji was in the middle of cooking dinner – something a little complicated that required his concentration – so Nami was left to wander around Mac’s house looking for something to do. She’d read through most of the books that had interested her in the study, and the house was pretty clean (aside from the kitchen, but it was being used so that didn’t count).

                She heard a frustrated grunt from Mac’s first floor office and decided to investigate. She politely knocked on the door. “Mac? Are you okay in there?”

                “Budgets,” he whined through the door. “I’m missing one hundred thousand berries.”

                Nami opened the door a crack and poked her head in. Mac looked disheveled and stressed out, papers and folders strewn about his desk. She frowned. “I used to manage the books for Luffy – want to see if I can help?” Mac looked up at her, studying her for several moments with wide, tired eyes. He finally nodded, and Nami stepped into the chaos.

                “I’m not very good with budgets,” he said. “I do well with decision making, but not this end of things.”

                “Didn’t you used to be a town clerk?” Nami asked, starting to organize the paperwork on his desk by type. “That’s what Shanks said – you were the town clerk before they made you the mayor. So didn’t this used to be your job?”

                “No, I did a lot of filing and documentation, meeting scheduling, errands for the old mayor, I was really more like a secretary,” said Mac. He sighed. “Budgets were always something the mayor handled. That’s something I’ve never gotten the hang of, but . . . everyone likes me as mayor and I don’t think anyone else wants the job. They think I’m the town hero – you know, when they don’t think Shanks is the town hero.”

                “You were very brave to do what you did,” Nami said. She straightened a pile and set it aside.

                “Maybe, but . . . I feel like there are some things I can handle well. I’m really good at settling disputes. Not everyone is as happy as they’d like, but they’re usually happier than when they came into my office in the first place.” He coughed. “But budgets and numbers are beyond me. I don’t understand them. At all.”

                “Hey Mac, I think I found your lost money – you didn’t carry a one over here,” she said. She put the paperwork down, pointed out the error, and Mac slumped into his chair, relieved. Nami smiled.

                “Really? I didn’t carry a one? It took me three hours to not figure that out and three minutes for you to hunt it down?”  
                Nami shrugged. “I’ve got a good head for numbers.”

                Mac looked at Nami quizzically. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

                “Hmm?” asked Nami.

                “Well, Shanks was encouraging you two to blend in on the island . . . do you want a job?”

 

                Nami looked in the mirror as Sanji straightened and adjusted the silky scarf around her neck. “You think this looks good?” she asked.

                “You don’t look half bad in a skirt suit at all,” said Sanji. He spun her around to look her up and down, tugging a little on the bottom of the jacket. Ria had come up with the outfit – matching navy blue blazer and pencil skirt, dark grey tights (because it was too cold for pantyhose), and a pearl pink shirt. Sanji had discovered the red scarf and tied it around her neck, leaving a loose knot off the side. It successfully covered the number on the back of her neck and stay out of the way of the off-color wig she was wearing. “All you need now is a little make up and voila – brand new assistant to the mayor.”

                “I don’t know,” she said, shuffling in her stalking feet. “I’m new to the island.”

                “And?”

                “Won’t people be upset if they see some strange girl acting as Mac’s right hand?”

                Sanji laughed. “Nami-san, you’re a secretary – people aren’t going to be up in arms over the girl who they think is getting him his coffee. You’re not making any big decisions – you’re just making sure he’s doing his math right, scheduling his meetings, and yes, getting him his coffee.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re going to do just fine.”

                Maybe that was true, but she was still nervous – she wasn’t just the assistant for anyone, this was the _mayor’s_ assistant. She’s known Mac for what, three weeks? And he was trusting her with helping him _run the island_? Was he mad or something? “I’ve never held an honest job in my life!” She said. Her eyes widened. “Shit. I’ve REALLY never held an honest job in my life!”

                Sanji stared at her for a few minutes before realizing this was true. “Oh. Shoot.” That was true for most of the Straw Hats. Luffy and Usopp had never had a job of any kind. Zoro was a bounty hunter, but even that was a little shady. Chopper had been training under a doctor who TECHNICALLY wasn’t allowed to practice on the island she lived on. Robin did whatever work came her way. She herself had been a lifelong thief.

                Sanji had been co-owner of a restaurant. Franky had been a legitimate shipwright. Brook once held a job as a royal guard in the South Blue. Those three had basically ALL of the “honest” work experience in the entire Straw Hat crew (unless Mr. 2 had done something, but they were still getting used to the idea that, during their absence, Luffy had recruited the ballerina).

                “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re going to do great.” Sanji gave her a hug.

                “What about you?” asked Nami.

                “The Cider Mug, a popular restaurant slash bar slash café, is looking for a new cook. Mac asked me if I wanted to try out for it, I said yes, so the owner is coming by this afternoon to sample some of my dishes,” said Sanji. “I’ve already got three different soups on the stove downstairs I need to go check on soon, then I’ve got a salad to make, chicken to bake, and cheese to grate.”

                “You made that almost rhyme.”

                “Well, that’s secondary to the food tasting good,” he said.

                “You’re a phenomenal cook – he’d be crazy not to hire you,” said Nami.

                Sanji beamed a little. “I was a little worried I was out of practice, but Mac seems pretty happy with what I’ve been feeding him, and Braeburn compared the meal I made for him to sex – specifically he said it was better than sex.” He grinned stupidly. “That was a good compliment.”

                Nami shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

                “Eh?” Sanji asked.

                Nami raised an eyebrow. “I thought you knew I was still a virgin.”

                Sanji’s eyes widened. “I, um, no, I had no idea. Really?”

                “Yes, really,” said Nami. “We never talked about that?”

                “We might have,” said Sanji, looking away. “But we talked about a lot, Nami-san.”

                Nami sighed. This was true. They’d shared a lot during their captivity, since there was nothing else to do in the cell at night but talk and staying up late shooting the breeze made it possible for them to sleep through a lot of the experimentation. And sometimes the topics did get personal – Nami was positive she’d talked about Arlong with him, and he’d told her about the circumstances that brought him to Zeff. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been an early topic of conversation, but it was entirely plausible their sex lives had come up.

                “So I take it you’re not one?” asked Nami.

                “Nope – I was seventeen when it happened,” said Sanji. He sighed. “It was a one-time fling.”

                That surprised Nami. Sure Sanji was a little . . . not picky when it came to flirting, but based on his meltdown when he found out he was sterile, the idea that he had lost his virginity to a one night stand surprised her. Relationships obviously held some kind of value to him – why didn’t he wait for a girlfriend for something so special?

                Sanji sensed what she was thinking. “I thought it was something more than it was,” he said soberly. “She’d been making eyes at me for a while, so I thought she liked me and I kind liked her because she was definitely cute, but . . . she did not want anything more than a fling. And a free meal. She got both. And then she came in a few days later . . . she made a comment about my inability to perform to her liking and then left. Never saw her again.”

                “Oh my God, Sanji-kun,” Nami said, but he shook his head.

                “Did it stop me from flirting and hitting on pretty girls while we were with Luffy?”

                Nami tipped her head in defeat. “Point taken.”

                “On the bright side I got my awkward, terrible virgin sex out of the way on someone who doesn’t matter to me in the long run,” Sanji said, trying to make a joke out of it. “And I was AWFUL first time out of the gate – there was a reason she called me ‘Speedy’.”

                “That was mean of her.”

                “It was true at the time,” said Sanji. “But that’s, ah, true for some guys. It takes practice.”

                “So you’ve had additional practice,” Nami said slowly.

                Sanji shrugged. “She was the first one, not the only one.”

                “For a while the others thought you were a desperate virgin. Did that bother you at all?”

                “Well, they were half right – I _was_ desperate.” He forced himself to grin.

                “Had a little sex drought?”

                “It’s been a while, not even counting last year,” he said slowly. Sanji shook his head. “Not important. I’ll be okay. But right now you look lovely and presentable and you’re going to be a fantastic assistant today, got it?” Sanji smiled and nodded at her, encouraging her to smile and nod back. “Good! You’re going to do great!” He gave her a kiss on the cheek (and Nami gave him a gentle tap to the cheek), adjusted her wig a little, and sent her on her merry way.

 

                Apple Island’s town was little bit busier than Nami expected. She had been expecting a small farming community, but was astounded to see it was more developed and populated than what she was used to seeing. There were little shops and businesses and cobblestone roads cleared of snow. Some children were having a snowball fight by some kind of candy store, and there were couples and friends walking in both directions while having quiet conversations.

                In the center of town was a slightly larger building – the town hall. Mac opened the double doors, which led to a small reception area – there was a desk, several quills, a small Den Den Mushi, and a sign in book. There were two simple staircases leading up a landing with a pair of double doors at the top, directly above a pair of double doors near the reception desk. The only other noteworthy features were single doors under each stair case – one had Mac’s name on the door (Mayor McIntosh Connor Smith), the other door blank.

                “This is where you’ll be spending most of your time,” said Mac. “My office is to the left, there’s a general supply and break area to the right, and behind you is the town hall. Mostly it’s used for town meetings, which we typically have about once a month. The next one isn’t for a while, so I’ll tell you what I want to do then when the time comes.”

                “Okay. So am I a receptionist?” asked Nami.

                “Largely. I’ll probably have you do some other things as well – keep on top of my schedule because I’m horrible at that, too, file paperwork, whatever it looks like you can do well. I’ve wanted a good assistant for a while but they never seem to work out,” said Mac.

                “Any reason why?” asked Nami.

                “Not doing their work? I get that there will be times you might not be the busiest and you’re just waiting for someone to come in, and that’s fine, but the last one just let a stack of harvest reports pile up and up and up . . . it was a nightmare to sort out.” The mayor straightened his glasses. “When I was the town clerk and I had nothing to do, I had a book in my bottom desk drawer. But if there was a stack of filing on my desk, I filed.”

                “Makes sense . . . sounds easy enough . . .” said Nami. “Why me?”

                “You seem proactive and you seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. If you do well, I’ve give you more responsibility and more compensation,” Mac said with a smile. Nami tried to smile back – she was a little nervous, this being her first job, but she was determined to get it right.

 

                Sanji was almost done with dinner by the time Mac and Nami returned. “Welcome home!” he yelled over his shoulder. “How’d everything go?”

                “Very well!” said Mac. He put his briefcase down in the living room and followed his assistant into the kitchen. “It was a slow day – we couldn’t have asked for better first day conditions. One of the farmers came in to file a crop value change and Nami handled it beautifully.” He patted her shoulder. “I think it’s going to work out fine.”

                Nami tried to read Sanji’s posture. “And how did things go for your interview?”

                Sanji laughed. “He thinks most of my cooking is too fancy for his regulars,” he said.

                “You didn’t get the job?” asked Nami.

                “No, I did. Most of what I made would need to be priced way too high for what he usually puts on his menu, except for the soup. So my primary job will be rotating different soups, stews, chowders, and chilis throughout the weeks and the months, prep work, individual meals to order . . . basically what I was expecting to do.” He grinned. “So excited about the soup thing though.”

                “Good for you,” said Nami, giving him a hug from behind. “When do you start?”

                “Tomorrow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I was dreading the writing of this part of the story, but it’s going so fast! I dunno, maybe it’s more enjoyable on your end? I sure don’t want to write about Nami doing clerical work. Maybe it’s more interesting to read about her doing clerical work. Nami’s job is important, it’s just not terribly interesting yet. 
> 
> You can probably thank The Avengers fandom because guess what a lot of fanfiction in that fandom is? DOMESTIC AVENGERS! Oh yeah sure you can find some stuff about Dr. Doom blowing up Chicago or whatever but what are most of the fanfics? Let’s all live together in Stark Tower, drink coffee, and have wild sex according to the preference of the author . 
> 
> Sanji’s job might be more interesting (unless you guys like clerical work – if there is a demand for Nami filing paperwork I’m curious to know, but I’m still not writing it) – the Cider Mug is an important location so I’m looking forward to exploring the characters and setting there.
> 
> -Dixxy


	10. The Cider Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji's first day at his new job doesn't go as well as he'd like, but the day isn't a complete loss thanks to Nami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny retcon: Last chapter now takes places roughly a week later (so about a month/four weeks instead of three weeks).

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Nine: The Cider Mug

 

                Despite having gotten a job there and having met with the owner, Sanji hadn’t actually been to the café he was now supposed to be working at. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even gone into town – his only trip out of Mac’s house had been the one his hallucination brought him on and he didn’t remember most of that (or most of the trip back, thanks to his lack of sleep at the time).

                The Cider Mug, he’d been told, was a popular local hangout that served as a café during the day and a bar with music and dancing at night. He was pretty sure it was the same place that Braeburn and his band played at when they weren’t taking a break, so he thought that maybe the blacksmith would be a good person to show him the way.

                “You’ll like the Cider Mug – it’s lively,” said Braeburn. The two were making the trek from Mac’s house to the town, Sanji keeping his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. “One of the guys in my band works there as a cook, too – I’ll make sure he keeps an eye on you so your first day goes smoothly.”

                Sanji frowned. “I’m not a little kid – I’m almost twenty-one, Braeburn.”

                “Hey, I worry about you, especially with what happened a few weeks ago.”

                “I know my way around a kitchen – I’ll be all right,” he insisted.

                Braeburn shrugged. “Yeah, well, still. Shanks is concerned, too – he wants to know you and Nami are being well taken care of while you’re here,” he said. “I don’t anticipate a problem with Haralson or the other cooks, but if a customer gives you a hard time don’t be afraid to speak up, all right?”

                Sanji shrugged. “All right. But I am a pirate, you know.”

                “A pirate who still needs to recover a bit – Gala just barely okayed you and Nami getting jobs at all,” said Braeburn. He stopped and turned to face Sanji directly. “And I wouldn’t advise spreading around that you’re a pirate if I were you – that might bring you unnecessary trouble you aren’t ready to handle yet.”

                “I wasn’t planning on starting with that but why? This is emperor territory.”

                “And you aren’t one of Shanks’ men,” said Braeburn. “Therein lies the proverbial rub.”

                Sanji had to concede the point – these people specifically liked Shanks and his crew, they’d never encountered Luffy before (although based on what they had been told, the people here heard PLENTY about his rubbery captain from Shanks). And if it did cause trouble, Braeburn was right – the past month had been good for them, but there was still a long way to go.

                The Cider Mug was olive green with a pair of wrought iron tables and eight wrought iron chairs out front. The sign hanging above the door was lacquered wood, depicting a frothy stein and stylized calligraphy advertising the name of the establishment. To the right of a door there was a menu posted and a chalk board behind a glass panel advertising the daily specials. To the left was a poster advertising a band called Core with a large, yellow banner covering the group’s picture reading “HIATUS”.

                “That’s your band, I take it?” Sanji asked, pointing at the poster. He could see Braeburn’s face just above the banner and half of what appeared to be the guitarist’s face, but the visages of the female lead singer and the drummer were completely obscured by the hiatus notification. “How long are you guys on break?”

                “We want to hold auditions for a new singer in April and start up again by mid May – we don’t want to pick out our new singer while we’re still pissed off, so we’re taking some time to cool our heads,” said Braeburn. He twitched his nose. “We’ve had it up to here with her. She’s not getting back in if she begs on her hands and knees, and Haralson’s banned her from performing until after we’ve got the new band established – he’s sick of her shit, too, but she’s enough of a draw that he can’t boot her completely.”

                Sanji took one last look at the poster before following Braeburn inside.

 

                The inside of the café was bigger than it looked. None of the tables and chairs matched, but it all sort of worked together in a kind of chaotic harmony. Paintings of landscapes he guessed were from around the island were hung on the walls in brightly colored frames. To one side was an open bar area directly in front of a completely open kitchen. Opposite the bar and kitchen sat a small, empty stage with a phonograph in one corner.

                The blacksmith’s eye caught something – a tall, skinny man in a green shirt in the kitchen. His grey hair was tied back in a ponytail and he had a series of piercings along his left ear. “Hey, Jimmy!” The pierced young man looked up, waved cheerily, and rushed over to give Braeburn a hug and a pat on the back.

                “Beebs! You never come in to see me anymore!”  said Jimmy.

                “I’ve had some other stuff going on – you keeping Darryl out of trouble?”  
                Jimmy snorted. “No.”

                Braeburn snorted. “Figures. Anyways, this is Sanji – I’m assuming Haralson told you about him?”

                Jimmy stared at Sanji for a moment before his eyes lit up and he smacked his forehead. “Oh yeah! Haralson said we’d be getting a new guy today. What’s up, man?” He held out his hand for a handshake – Sanji took the hand and was immediately pulled into a hug. “You have no idea how happy me and Paula are that Haralson brought another good pair of hands on board – we’ve been swamped like crazy.”

                Sanji was still recovering from being hugged by Jimmy. “Oh, um, thanks.”

                “So you’re new to the island, right? We don’t get a lot of those – what’s your story?”

                Before he could answer, Braeburn shot Jimmy a look. “Not a pretty one, so don’t ask,” he said. Braeburn crossed his arms and put a hand defensively on Sanji’s shoulder. “Most of the people who come here don’t have a good story behind it – not since Shanks took over. You should know that by now, Jimmy.”

                Sanji still wasn’t crazy about Braeburn’s mother hen attitude, but didn’t mind in this instance.

                “Sorry, Beebs,” said Jimmy. He shook his head at Sanji. “I’m sorry – if you’ve got some wounds you’re still licking, feel free to smack me if I’m picking at the scabs, okay?” He smiled at Braeburn and put his hand over his heart. “I got it from here – I promise I will be nicer to the newbie and show him around and not ask anymore prying questions unless I have to. Okay?”

                “All right – I’ll kick your ass if he’s traumatized next time I see him,” said Braeburn. He looked at Sanji in worry, crossing his arms. He’s really worried about me – does he really like me that much? “You want me to swing by at the end of your shift to bring you back to Mac’s? I don’t mind – I’ve got stuff to do but-”

                Jimmy whistled. “You’re crashing at the mayor’s house? Nice.”

                Braeburn ignored Jimmy. “Do you?”

                Sanji shook his head. “No, Mac and Nami-san are coming by after they close up at town hall,” he said. “I’ll walk home with them. But thanks for offering, Braeburn.” Braeburn smiled and gave Sanji a gentle hug, wishing him a good first day and enforcing his warning on Jimmy. Jimmy saluted as Braeburn left.

                “Sorry about Beebs, he can be a worrywart and overprotective,” said Jimmy.

                Sanji shook his head. With everything that had happened he understood why Braeburn acted the way he did, although apparently this was normal for the blacksmith anyways. Had he been in the blacksmith’s shoes he wasn’t so sure he would have behaved much differently. “Is there a place I can put my coat?” he asked.

                “Sure – we’ve got a break room in the back,” said Jimmy. He gestured for Sanji to follow him. The back room was a typical break room – there was a coffee pot and several ceramic mugs, a table and some chairs, a coat rack with two coats on its, and some lockers. “Haralson’s in his office crunching some numbers from last night. Paula will be in after we open up for the day and leave after close.”

                Sanji took off his jacket and hung it on the rack – he didn’t have any other possessions to put into a locker, so he didn’t ask. He turned to Jimmy to ask what next and saw him holding up a t-shirt. Sanji swallowed. “All of the cooks and wait staff get to wear one of these – it’s got the name of the café embroidered nice and pretty by Miss Elstar and her ladies.”

                This wasn’t an option as far as Sanji was concerned. The sweater he wore wasn’t too bulky and he’d be able to cook just fine in it, but more importantly it hid the number on the back of his neck. He stared at Jimmy and shook his head no. “Uh, is there maybe a turtleneck or sweatshirt version of that running around?”

                Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You okay, dude?”

                Sanji debated what to do. If he argued too much, he might lose his job, and he wasn’t going to screw it up, at least not on his first day. If he didn’t say anything, though, Jimmy was going to find out anyways – the t-shirt’s collar wouldn’t cover it, not even a little, and unlike Nami he hadn’t taken to wearing a wig.

                Really, Sanji didn’t have a choice. He had to tell Jimmy something, and so he chose his words carefully. “There’s a scar on the back of my neck I’m a little sensitive about,” he said. “I just . . . don’t like it being uncovered.” There. That was good enough. He didn’t need to know where the scar came from, and Braeburn had already warned the other cook about prying questions.

                The grey haired man wasn’t bothered – he shook his head and smiled. “Oh, we can fix that,” said Jimmy. He opened up one of the lockers, which looked like it held spare employee t-shirts. On the top shelf was a bunch of red, white, and black paisley fabric. “These are leftover from last year’s harvest festival – we wore them to look more like farmers. It was kind of cheesy but whatever, they’ve got a new use now. You can tie this around your neck – will that work?”

                Sanji nodded. “I think so.”

                The other cook grinned and nodded, wrapping an arm around Sanji’s shoulders. “See? Just speak up if you need anything special and we’ll make it happen for you – you know, within reason,” said Jimmy. “Now go get changed –we’ve got some prep work to do!”

 

                Since the Cider Mug largely dealt in lunchtime meals, a lot of the prep work for the day was cutting up meats, tomatoes, and cheeses for sandwiches. Once Sanji was done preparing the soups for the day (a beef barley and a corn chowder) and left them to simmer, he joined Jimmy in slicing tomatoes to be put into a metal bin.

                “So what’s everyone here like?” Sanji asked.

                Jimmy shrugged. “Well you already met Cliff,” he said. Sanji nodded. Cliff Haralson was a rotund man with a thick brown mustache and a round, rosy nose. He was much more jovial than Zeff, but still carried himself in a way than demanded respect. Other than their one meeting, through, Sanji really hadn’t gotten much of a chance to know his new employer yet.

                “Cliff’s a decent guy, well liked by the other islanders and everything, but he’s got a nasty temper – try not to piss him off,” Jimmy advised. “It’s not like he’s on a hair trigger or anything, but I wouldn’t play games with his fuse anyways. Just don’t dick around or anything and you’ll be fine – you know, normal best behavior stuff. He’s quite the teddy bear when he’s not angry.”

                Sanji held back a grimace. “Best behavior” was not his forte.

                “Then there’s Paula Red. Her favorite subject is her grandchildren and if you get her started on that subject good luck getting her off the subject or away from her once she’s started. If you ever want to be bored to tears for three hours, though, ask her how they’re doing,” said Jimmy. He laughed. “Talented cook. Likes to put the wait staff on edge just to see ‘em jump. She’s sort of our unofficial sous chef, and she runs a very tight kitchen.”

                “I was sous chef at the last restaurant I worked at – I know where she’s coming from there.”

                “Good,” said Jimmy. “Now, normally we have two other guys – Macoun and Stayman – but they’re both out for another week. They got hurt during cleanup after a snowstorm we had back in January and Gala’s doesn’t want them on their feet yet. You’ve met Gala, right? Island’s only doctor?”

                Sanji nodded, but felt a hint of discomfort. _Only doctor? That sounds familiar._ He shook off the feeling – Apple Island wasn’t exactly a one-horse island, but it also wasn’t another Alubarna or Water 7. Maybe one doctor was all they really needed for their size, or maybe he was training an apprentice or two that weren’t doctors yet or something.

                Still, an island with only one doctor . . .

                “And then there’s the sexy one. Me.”

                Jimmy’s posturing broke Sanji’s trance and he couldn’t help smirking. “Little full of yourself?”

                Jimmy snickered. “Hey, I am the drummer in Beebs’ band – I’m the guy that girls sleep with to get backstage.”

                “Really?” Sanji asked skeptically.

                Jimmy sulked. “Well. No. Not really, I mean, small island and all . . . you kinda know a lot of people . . . it would be messy. But on a bigger island, I would totally be that guy.” He pointed at the stage area. “Obviously you’ve met Braeburn, our bass player, and that leaves my roommate and our guitar player, Darryl. You may have heard we booted our lead vocalist, Deltana, to the curb not too long ago for being an all around awful human being.”

                “Yeah. Braeburn seems sore about the subject.”

                “Core was his baby – it’s a nice way to get a little extra cash doing something that’s a lot of fun and Deltana sucked all the fun right out of it,” said Jimmy, making a slurping noise at the end of his sentence to make a point. “Deltana doesn’t seem to understand that this is a small island that doesn’t get a lot of outside contact – there are no bright lights and flashy stages, this is small time on a small scale and we aren’t going to get much bigger than we already are. But she acts like a fucking prima donna and we were tired of her horse shit.”

                “How so?” asked Sanji.

                “Well, she showed up to shows and practices – if she even bothered to show at practices – trashed out of her mind. If something during a performance went wrong – mind you, never anything SHE did wrong and she probably screwed up more than the rest of us – she would flip out mid-show. Darryl, Beebs and I have tried to explain to her that strings and skins bust all the time, even during a performance and all you can do is smile, shrug, and continue on, but nope, she will stop mid song and shriek at us.” Jimmy clenched his fists. “She is awful, terrible, and we’ve wasted enough time on her. What about you? What makes you tick, Sanji?”

                Sanji wasn’t sure what to say. The Baratie felt like ancient history, he didn’t think talking about the Straw Hats was a good idea, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about what happened while that man had him prisoner. “I’m coming off a rough patch,” he said slowly. “Really rough. You said it yourself – people don’t just come to this island for fun.”

                Jimmy gave him a shoulder pat. “It’s okay. You don’t need to talk about that. But like, hobbies? Favorite color? Favorite curse word? Least favorite . . . brand of . . . whiskey?”

                Sanji laughed. “Well, I don’t really have much for hobbies outside of cooking, although when I was healthier I was a very skilled martial artist – I’ll pick it up again once I’ve put some more weight back on and Gala gives me the okay. My favorite color is blue, I say ‘shit’ like it’s going out of style, and I’ve never been a big fan of whiskey – wine is my weakness, but I’m on doctor’s orders to not drink for a while so it doesn’t matter.”

                “Ooo, you respond to random questions,” said Jimmy. He eye Sanji carefully. “Favorite animal.”

                “Ah . . . not sure.”

                “Tattoos?”  
                Sanji winced at the thought of what was on his neck. “Um, no.”

                “Preferred female body part?”

                Easy one. “I prefer the whole picture.”

                “Ooo, I like that answer. I usually says ‘boobs’ but I might use that one sometime. May I?”

                Sanji shrugged. “Be my guest.”

                “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the newest crouton in our little salad!” Sanji was a little stunned to be suddenly grabbed from behind and he nearly screamed, but the warm laughter and sudden release made him realize it wasn’t anything to be afraid of. He smiled nervously at Haralson, whose smile was like a rhinestone studded belt buckle in the sun. “How do you like it so far, huh? Jimmy going easy on you?”

                “Cliff, didn’t we have a meeting last month about inappropriate use of food metaphors?” Jimmy seemed annoyed by the “ salad” quip and, the more Sanji thought about it, he wondered what the implications of being called a “crouton” was (actually, he still wasn’t sure why Zeff called him “baby eggplant” all the time, either). The other chef walked over to a glass jar filled with money. “Five hundred berries.”

                Haralson frowned. “I don’t-“

                “You heard me.”

                Sanji turned to Jimmy in confusion, surprised to see such a serious look on his face as the owner begrudgingly dropped a crumpled note in the jar. He remembered a brief phase that Zeff had tried a swear jar at the Baratie (everyone was broke or in debt after three hours, which nearly led to a mutiny) but was this a . . . _bad food pun jar?_ “Do I even want to ask?”

                “It was getting to be a problem,” Jimmy said dryly. Cliff pouted. “You agreed to this.”

                “. . . yeah, I guess I did,” said Haralson. He turned his attention back to Sanji. “And? How’re you adapting to our menu? I know you’re used to finer cuisine so . . .” Jimmy raised an eyebrow at his boss, who laughed. “He’s been, well, a bit classically trained.” He patted Sanji on the shoulder. “If this island had a fancier restaurant, I’d feel bad taking him in.”

                “I’m just happy to be able to work in a kitchen again,” Sanji said. Food was food, and he was happy to be working with it again. He felt comfortable when surrounded by pots and pans and stove tops and ovens, and it didn’t really matter much to him what he was making (although he did pull out all the stops for Nami-san and any other girl on Luffy’s ship).

                Besides, ham sandwiches were better than That Man’s ship any day.

                “Just how fancy was this food?” asked Jimmy.

                Sanji started to feel self conscious. “Five star?”

                Jimmy stared at him, dumbfounded. “How does a five star sous chef end up . . . no, no, right.”

                Haralson sighed. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

                “No, it’s fine,” said Sanji, forcing a smile. The memories were starting to hurt. “I, um, don’t think anyone’s started on the onions yet. I’ll start on those.” He could sense Jimmy and Haralson exchanging an uncomfortable look as he started to look for some onions, the perfect cover to shed some tears out in the open.

 

                The restaurant opened, and Sanji realized very quickly how out of practice he was at handling a busy kitchen and how sorely understaffed the Cider Mug really was – whoever Macoun and Stayman were, their absence was felt. Although there were a handful of waiters and waitresses (Sanji caught none of their names and he wasn’t sure they’d even noticed there was a new cook behind the counter) to bring orders to hungry customers, it was still non-stop.

                Although That Man did occasionally have them do some kind of physical activity to check their heart rates, Sanji was sorely out of shape from the year he’d spent there. It also dawned on him that, despite his captain’s appetite, the demands of being the cook for a small pirate crew weren’t as strenuous as those placed on a cook in a busy restaurant, even if most of what he was preparing was sandwiches.

                He wasn’t sure he was going to last the first day.

                Sanji had barely noticed the entrance of the middle aged woman working with him and Jimmy behind the counter. This was the last of the cooks, Paula Red. She had cedar brown hair tied in a bun and a determined look in her eyes as she processed orders, heating hot sandwiches and dealing out the pieces of cold sandwiches like a blackjack dealer. She made him feel insufficient.

                “Hey, Greenhorn, we’re nearly out of provolone, go start slicing!”

                Jimmy nudged his head towards the prep station. “I think she’s talking to you.”

                 Sanji slid back to the chopping block, trying to concentrate on slicing. The restaurant was loud and rowdy, maybe even louder than either of his galleys as Luffy’s cook, maybe as loud as a day on the Baratie when pirates decided to attack. Paula and Jimmy were calling for more ingrediants (“Tomatoes are almost gone!” “I’ve got five roast beef sandwiches to make and not even enough for on, Greenhorn!”).

                _We’re barely keeping up – how did they do this all alone?_

“Honey ham – no, not that!”

                “Lettuce!”

                “CLIFF! WE NEED MORE HANDS BACK HERE!”

                The ingredients were starting to blur together. Sanji felt like he was in a nightmare. This was a _kitchen_ and he was working with _food_ , yet he may as well have been trying to construct one of Usopp’s inventions from scratch, blindfolded and blitzed on the stuff that made the swordsman tipsy. Why was he struggling to keep up with making _stupid sandwiches!?_

                _I’ve cooked some of the finest meals the East Blue has ever seen, so why am I-_

                “ _Greenhorn!_ ”

                Sanji felt a hand on his wrist and for a moment, time froze.

                The blade of the knife was mere hairs away from slicing his thumb clean off.

                Shaking, Sanji watched helplessly as Paula took the knife away from him, a disappointed look on her face. “You need to get the fuck away from sharp, pointy objects and go make sandwiches before you hurt yourself and you’re useless to me. I will do the prep.”

                In that moment, Sanji’s terror nearly matched his fear of That Man finding them. “I-“

                “NOW!”

               

                The rush went down in about an hour, and Sanji couldn’t haven’t been happier. He’d been trembling since the incident with the knife, both because he had nearly destroyed one of his most prized possessions, and also because, for some reason, Paula had terrified him. This matronly, middle-aged woman had actually scared him.

                And _how_ could this woman possibly scare him? He’d outsmarted one of the seven warlords of the sea, and that man had nearly killed his captain _twice_. He’d brought down a man who thought he was God, and this was after that same man had electrocuted him. He’d almost single-handedly brought down the _Puffing Tom_ , facing a small army of Marines and government agents with only Franky and Usopp ( _*sigh* -SOGEKING-_ ) for assistance.

                Yet this woman made him feel like he was a child again.

                Sanji felt even less oriented than before.

                When there were only two sandwiches to be made and a healthy amount of ingredients sliced, Paula put her hand on his shoulder and started to lead him to the break room. “Jimmy, give me a yell if you need anything – Greenhorn and I need to have a little chat.” Sanji watched as Jimmy gulped nervously.

                Once in the break room, Paula sat Sanji down and took a seat across from him. He closed his eyes, fully expecting to be yelled at, possibly fired (if Paula was second to Haralson she might have the power to do that or, at the very least, talk their boss into it), and humiliated. He felt tense and stiff and sick to his stomach.

                _What did That Man do to me?_

                Sanji was surprised to feel a hand on his forehead. “No fever, so I don’t think you’re sick – at least, not that kind of sick – sweating like a pig, though.” He opened his eyes and saw Paula’s eyes had softened considerably. She grasped his hand – the one that had nearly lost a thumb – and clucked her tongue. “Haralson mentioned that the mayor said you and your little friend were in a bad place for a while. Having trouble coping?”

                Sanji lowered his eyes.

                “Trauma takes a while to heal from,” said Paula. She produced a cold bottled drink and passed it to him. “Everyone on this island knows that. And that includes those who’ve come to live here since who weren’t born here. Shanks is a good man but we know where he stands in the eyes of the law and the rest of the world, so we know it’s special when newcomers arrive on our shores. No one comes to this island with a happy story to tell.”

                 Sanji looked away. “No. It’s not.”

                “Didn’t think so.” Paula continued to stare him down. “I tasted your soup and listened to Haralson’s rave reviews of your cooking. Haralson doesn’t talk like that and your soup was better than anything the slobs in this joint are used to – I don’t know if you were paying attention but we ran out of your soup ninety minutes after we opened. You have a gift, and I’d hate to see it go to waste over a careless accident.”

                It was all making Sanji very nauseous. His hands were his livelihood, his passion, a large part of who he was and tied to one of the only parts of himself he didn’t lose during his captivity. Losing one of his hands would break him beyond repair, especially if it was by his own doing over something as stupid as not paying attention when slicing luncheon meats.

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Breathe. Don’t worry about apologizing to me – it’s not my thumb you nearly cut off. But we need to get your head in a better place. Hopefully Macoun and Stayman will be off the mend soon so that when we get busy like that it’s easier to manage – trust me, it will get that busy, but you’d be surprised what another cook or two can do to alleviate that pressure.”

                Sanji hated being treated with this kind of pity. He was stronger than that, even with his body the way it was after a year of what That Man had done to him and Nami. He clenched his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table. He felt Paula’s hand on his and he looked at her in surprise – she seemed to be almost grinning. “Well if you’re that pissed off you’re being treated like a hatchling then you’ll just need to gussy up sooner rather than later.”

                “I guess so.”

 

                A couple of hours after the talk with Paula Red, Mac and Nami showed up, signaling the end of Sanji’s first shift. He gave polite farewells to Jimmy (who gave him a bear hug and promised him things would get better) and Haralson (who told him he did a great job on his first day and he’d do well at the Cider Mug) before leaving with the mayor and his crewmate.

                Paula gave him a knowing look.

                “How did your first day go?” Nami asked.

                Sanji shuddered. “It was a rough day.”

                Nami frowned. “Well, I’ve got something back at Mac’s house that’ll make you feel better.” She gave him a hug and a smile and for a small moment, Sanji forgot about being babied and nearly cutting off his thumb and the stress of that first understaffed day at work. After all, Nami was smiling, and those were still a rarity.

 

                “Close your eyes,” Nami said.

                Sanji laughed, his hands out in front of him as they slowly headed toward’s Mac’s guest room. “You’re leading me to the guest room with your hands over them – even if they were open I couldn’t see anything, Nami-san,” he said. “Besides, what’s with all the secrecy anyways? I thought we were closer than that.”

                “We are, but did you honestly forget what today was?” asked Nami.

                “. . . Tuesday?”

                “Month and day, Sanji-kun . . . although you’re not wrong.”

                Sanji stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t.”

                Nami patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, we’ve been through a lot lately.”

                “I forgot my own birthday,” he said. He whined. “You didn’t-“

                “Shush, and you’re almost at one of the beds so sit down,” Nami countered. Sanji sighed, found the edge of a bed, and took a seat. There was the sound of a tray table opening, and something being set on it. He felt Nami sit next to him and heard the striking of a match. He grinned. He could also smell frosting, cake, and after she lit them, melting candles. “Okay, you can open them now.”

                Sanji opened his eyes and saw a small cake sloppily decorated with blue icing and fish-shaped candies. The candles looked like a two and a one, and Nami was smiling from ear to ear. “Happy Birthday, Sanji-kun.” She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and Sanji couldn’t hold back a little grin at the gesture.

                Friendly little kisses on the cheek or the forehead were becoming commonplace for them, but paired with the small birthday cake he couldn’t help but feel more than he usually felt these days. “Thank you, Nami-san,” he said. As he divided the cake into thirds (Mac had other business to attend to that evening but Sanji wanted to save their host a piece), Sanji kept an eye on Nami and wondered if his libido was really all that dead after all.

                He paused mid slice. _No. Don’t fuck this up. You CANNOT fuck this up._

                “Sanji-kun?”

                “Nothing.” It was a simple yellow cake, but the gesture was more than enough for him. “Did you decorate this yourself?”

                “Yeah, I did. It’s not very good, is it?” she said.

                Sanji shook his head. “I like it. I see what you were trying to do, and the fish candy is a good way to compensate if you don’t know how to make shapes with frosting or marzipan. Besides, I like these, they’re delicious.” To prove his point he smiled, opened his mouth, and tossed one in. Nami smiled back as Sanji passed her a slice of her own.

                The two sat in silence as they ate, absently looking around Mac’s guest room and exchanging awkward smiles every so often. Although Mac was starting to refer to it as “their” room, that never felt quite right to them. No matter how gracious he was or how much he insisted they make themselves comfortable, it just never felt like home.

                Nami stared out the window at the town, an idea starting to form. “You know, Mac told me that there are some rooms for rent and apartments on the island – a couple of dedicated buildings, yes, but mostly small homes above shops that the owners sometimes rent out to young couples and small families . . .”

                “You want to get an apartment, Nami-san?” asked Sanji.

                “If we split the rent we might be able to get something decent,” said Nami.

                Sanji’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Together?”

                Nami looked at him in surprise. “Well, yeah.”

                Sanji wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it would get them out of Mac’s hair (although he’d probably continue mother henning them for a while anyways) and give them a foothold to assert some independence and privacy as they tried to figure things out and heal. They still weren’t over the inability to sleep alone and they had no desire to leave the other anyways.

                On the other, getting an apartment with someone, even someone he was as close to as Nami, seemed a bit daunting. He’d never had to really worry about something like that before – the Baratie and the Going Merry and the Thousand Sunny had all just kind of been there. Apartments didn’t ask you to join their pirate crew – they had to be found, paid for, and neighbors wouldn’t be the same as the other chefs of the Baratie or Luffy’s crew.

                “Sanji-kun?” Nami asked.

                Sanji looked around the room one last time. Even if they had jobs and started paying rent, Shanks did suggest they try to blend in a little, and living with the mayor seemed very awkward. He turned back to Nami – she seemed perfectly relaxed with the idea, and he wondered why. “Nami-san, there’s a lot going into finding a place, money alone is-“

                Nami rolled her eyes and laughed. “Sanji-kun, I don’t mean right now or anything – we’d need a few weeks to save up for the rent, and we’d need to have, you know, stuff to put in it – we can sell off things that we won’t be able to take on the Thousand Sunny, like furniture or whatever, when the time comes that Luffy’s here and we’re ready to start sailing again . . .” She put her hands on his. “Are you with me?”

                Sanji nodded. “All right. Let’s do this.”

 

Author’s Notes

 

That chapter basically hung out the window of an SUV and screamed “I DO WHAT I WANT” the entire time.

 

Tiny retcon: Instead of last chapter taking place three weeks after they washed up on Apple Island, it’ll be changed to “about a month/four weeks”. That’ll be changed on LJ, FF.Net, and AO3 after this chapter is posted.

 

Writing process. Yup.

 

Been a busy couple of months. Convention, my mom got re-married, had a cough since August (no, seriously, I’m not kidding, it sucks, fuck this cough), temp job that I thought would go permanent but then there was a massive layoff, I started reading American comic books, voted in the election (and I live in a swing state !), got my ears pierced, very exciting things.

 

Most of the islanders only take one part of their name from an apple cultivar, usually their family name, there are some varieties that are perfectly acceptable full names. Jimmy’s last name is “Grieve”, and “James Grieve” is a type of apple cultivar. So most of the time first names don’t have meaning.

 

With about four important exceptions.

 

Mac’s full name is McIntosh Smith, so in his came his first name is a type of apple (and my personal favorite to eat). His last name also has some meaning but it’s more important to his mother and I’ll let you guys piece that one together.

 

Ria’s first name comes from her namesake in my _Ronin Warriors_ fanfiction as she’s something of an “AU reboot” of the character. There may be roles for the other major OCs from that series later on.

 

Wendy and Sundae’s first names are also important, but I’m not going to say what because where Ria and Mac are both examples of an homage, the twins’ names are **plot relevant** ~_^ Have fun with that (and don’t worry, that won’t be a “near end-game” reveal like the Going Merry, it’ll come out somewhere around the halfway point).

 

-Dixxy


	11. The Sapphire Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji decides to get a second job. It is not the kind of work he was expecting.
> 
> At all.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Ten: The Sapphire Witch

 

                Although Nami’s desire to collect and horde money had faded considerably, her head was still great with numbers and Sanji was a tiny bit mesmerized watching her crunch the numbers together, muttering things and writing down something in a notebook to keep track of what went where. Sanji wasn’t terrible with numbers himself, but his expertise was more in fractions and measurements – things that were useful to a cook. He could handle finances, too, but the business side of running a restaurant was his least favorite aspect so he didn’t really LIKE dealing with the books.

                Sanji was perfectly content to let Nami manage their attempts to save up for this apartment.

                So, with part of their paychecks going towards rent/food bills (which Mac tried to decline) and keeping a small amount for his own devices, the bulk of their money was kept in the bottom drawer of a dresser they shared, with Nami noting every beli that came in and out. Sanji largely forgot what they were saving up for and was mostly content to continue on with the new routine he was developing.

                Once the other cooks returned to work at the Cider Mug, the lunch rush became much more manageable and Sanji was able to get back into his grove, earning him a few more hours of work and a slight pay raise when Haralson asked him to start doubling his batches of soup in the morning. They were getting along well with Mac, and Cobbler was starting to prefer sleeping in their room. Ria and Braeburn came over to visit, sometimes together and sometimes alone, sometime with the twins in tow (Wendy and Sundae ALWAYS had more pictures for them). Dr. Gala seemed cautiously optimistic about their recovery (and a little annoyed they’d started work, even part time work) but always left with words of encouragement for me.

 

                Three and a half weeks later, Nami greeted him outside of the Cider Mug with a bright smile.

                “We have a deposit and a first month’s rent!!!” she said excitedly, clapping enthusiastically,

                “Um . . .” Sanji was a little lost. What the hell was she talking about?

                “For the apartment. We need to put down a deposit and we need to have the first month’s rent,” said Nami. She frowned, moving her arms around to try and get him to remember. “Remember? We were talking about moving out of Mac’s place? Asserting our independence? Getting our groove back? Ringing any bells?”

                It was, but it wasn’t making any sense to the cook.  How could they have saved up that kind of money that quickly at the rate they were working and earning money? Even considering they were spending next to nothing, there was no way they could have done it. “That fast? We saved it up that fast?” asked Sanji. “But, how?”

                The two started to walk back to the mayor’s house while the navigator explained where the money had magically materialized from. “Well, Mac refused to accept any of rent or food money, even when I tried to sneak it to him, and between the two of us not really doing a whole lot of spending . . . yeah, we’re good for it,” said Nami. “There’s even some extra – we can get a couch or a table or something, too.”

                Sanji raised an eyebrow. “That still doesn’t seem possible.”

                Nami shook her head and pulled out a notebook. “Okay, see, here’s my weekly income-“

                Sanji’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Nami was making THREE TIMES as much as he was getting at the Cider Mug. Even considering that her job was gaining hours a little bit faster than his was, it was still a daunting pay scale difference. He guessed she might be making a little bit more than him but this was more humble pie than he was expecting to be served. “You make THAT much more than me!?”

                Nami shied away a little. “Um . . .”

                Sanji realized he was being rude, composed himself, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I get that ‘secretary to the mayor’ pays more than ‘part time cook at small restaurant’.” He paused, stood in front of her, and took her hands when he realized what this all meant. “Nami-san, that means most of that rent and deposit money is yours.”

                Nami glowered at him for a moment. “Is this because I’m a woman?”

                It took him a moment to realize what she was implying and he shook his head vigorously. “What? No! That’s not it!” said Sanji. “We’re supposed to be sharing the apartment, right? I should be paying half. I don’t need or want you to pay more than your fair share.” He sighed. “This whole moving out on our own thing was supposed to be about asserting our independence and taking control of our lives again . . . it isn’t good for either of us to be a crutch for the other, financial or not.”

                “I don’t mind,” she said. “You don’t even have to pay me back.”

                “There’s a difference between accepting money you’re owed and . . . what you did to everyone back with Luffy, and the former is okay. Look, if you want to move ahead with the search right away that’s all right, but at least give me an opportunity to pay you back,” said Sanji. “I mean, maybe I can get a second job.”

                She shook her head. “Sanji-kun, you don’t need to get a second job,” said Nami.

                Sanji shrugged. “You’re going to be at town hall if Mac has you working full time way more than I’m going to be at the Cider Mug for a while – I don’t mind grabbing a second job to make some extra money and kill some extra time when you’re not home. I mean, what am I going to do all day with myself? Knit?” He looked at her with a pout. “I don’t know how to knit, Nami-san.”

                Nami sighed and laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m not going to stop you. But are you sure?”

                “Sure. It can’t be that hard to find a second job, right?”

 

_Two days later . . ._

 

                Sanji quickly learned that he was wrong.

                Working for Haralson, it would be a conflict of interest for Sanji to work for one of the other food places in town (none of which were hiring anyways, so the point was moot). Additionally, he had no other practical skills that would make him useful anywhere else – he didn’t have farming skills or blacksmithing skills or anything else useful.

                Mac suggested being a store clerk. “Operating a cash register is pretty easy – I think.”

                That approach didn’t work, either. Aside from a few particularly observant regulars at the Cider Mug and those who had been to town hall recently, most of the people of the island didn’t have a clue who Sanji or Nami was. The reluctance to hire a stranger was obvious, and establishment after establishment left him feeling awkward, unwanted, and slightly poorer.

                Eventually, Sanji found himself outside of a dress shop with a pink and yellow sign advertising it as The Apple Blossom. The signs in the window also offered tailoring and seamstress services, and he realized this was probably Ria’s shop. The building was a bright sunshine yellow, with the door frames painted with flowers and butterflies. Although a dress shop wasn’t his dream job, at least Ria would be nice to him if she wasn’t hiring.

                Sanji let himself into the shop. There were a few mannequins modeling dresses and suits and some shelves and racks carrying more standard clothing items for men, women, and children, but most of the walls of the shop were lined with different kinds of fabrics and trims and thread and other things used to make clothing. Evidently Ria did a lot more custom work than he or Nami realized.

                 As for the proprietor herself, Sanji saw the familiar red-head with her head buried in her folded arms, screaming into the counter. Sanji approached gently, sensing that Ria was likely . . . stressed out or something. Just as his hands were about to touch the countertop, Ria’s head snapped up and she opened her mouth to yell. “WHAT – oh, I’m sorry Sanji, how can I help you today, sugah?”

                Sanji froze from the outburst and decided to tackle her problem before he tackled his own. “Are you all right?”

                Ria sighed and frowned. “No.”

                “What’s wrong?”

                The seamstress held up a notebook half ready to explode with extraneous, color pieces of paper. “This is wrong. I’ve got about a bazillion orders to fill by the end of the week, and I’m down two seamstresses right now – three, actually. One of my customers just came in here demanding why a dress I promised her next week isn’t done yet and proceeded to berate me for not getting my work done on time. I had to show her the work order and explain to her five times that I told her the dress wasn’t going to be done until next week, then I find out her stupid party got moved up so she tried to get her dress moved up and I’m sorry, but that is NOT my problem. Hence why you probably saw me screaming.”

                Sanji frowned. “That sounds unpleasant.”

                “It was, sugah. I’m so pissed right now. I only had four girls working here. One of them just had a baby and being a mother myself I’m not about to pull her away from that little bundle of joy before she’s ready – I’m not mad at her. But I had another one walk out on me yesterday over something stupid and petty – she can kiss my ass,” said Ria. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, you’ve got enough problems to sort out, I’m sure. I’ll figure something out.”

                “Well, um, actually, the reason I’m here is that I’m looking for a second job,” said Sanji. “Nami-san and I want to get an apartment and move out of Mac’s house and so far everyone on the island’s shot me down. I was wondering if maybe I could run your register for you or something? I don’t know how to sew so I can’t help you there but . . . maybe there’s something else I can do for you?”

                Ria considered this for a moment. “You willing to do something a little dangerous?”

                Sanji looked around the shop and laughed. “The most dangerous thing in here is needles and I already told you I don’t sew.” He crossed his arms. Ria clucked her tongue and shook her head. “No? Not the most dangerous thing in here?” She nodded. “Look, I know you probably don’t think I’m back in fighting condition – and to be fair, you’d be right – but I was a pirate, I think I can handle anything you can throw at me.” _Seriously, what would a seamstress have that would qualify as dangerous?_

                The seamstress grinned coyly. “You sure, sugah?” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

                “Positive.”

                Without missing a beat, Ria started to head towards the stairs, looking back at him with a mischievous wink. “Okay, just remember, I’m one of the only people on this island with combat training and you’re still on the mend, meaning that I can and I will murder the shit out of you if something bad happens to them.”

                Sanji blinked. “Them?” And suddenly he realized what he’d just agreed to.

                _And this is what we call a “mistake”._

                “WENDY! SUNDAE! SANJI’S GOING TO TAKE YOU OUT FOR ICE CREAM!”

 

                _Baby-sitter_.

                After getting the twins ice cream (in which Wendy demanded flavors that didn’t exist and Sundae couldn’t make up her mind, so he let them both have hot fudge sundaes with three flavors each), he’d swung by town hall to seek Nami’s wisdom on what the hell he was supposed to do with a pair of toddlers for the next three hours.

                “Now how did you end up a baby-sitter?” Nami asked. The two kept glancing over to where the twins were doodling on some scrap paper Nami had at her desk – they were quiet and loved to draw, but they WERE small children so there was no telling how long that would keep them entertained. “I thought you were trying to be a shop clerk.”

                “Ria’s short-staffed at her shop and one of the few employees she has left was tied up watching the twins. She needed that girl relieved of toddler time to sew, and for some reason she thinks I’m baby-sitter material,” Sanji said, keeping one eye on the girls as he talked with Nami. “So if today goes well she’s going to pay me for watching them a few afternoons a week, triple if she needs me to watch them for a full day.”

                “What’s a normal day pay?” Nami asked.

                “This,” said Sanji, writing it down. Nami whistled when she saw the number.

                “That’s really, really good money for baby-sitting, especially if she needs you the whole day” said Nami. “Although seeing as she’s using you to give her more time to focus on work as opposed to, I don’t know, going out to dinner or something, it’s an important expense for her business. You’re allowing her to bring more money into her home to keep food on the table for those little ones.”

                “That, or this is what she pays her regular employees and since she was paying them this rate to watch them anyways, what difference would it make if it’s me doing it? Other than, well, freeing up her skilled labor to make fancy hats,” said Sanji. He glanced back at the girls. They showed each other their drawings and giggled.

                “Well they seem all right for the moment, and don’t you want kids someday anyways?”

                Sanji frowned. That was true – he did want to be a father someday and settle down with a wife and two to three kids, but between his relatively young age, his life goals not being completed (i.e. finding All Blue), and recovering from everything That Man had put him through, he certainly wasn’t ready (or able, thanks to That Man) to be a father.

                “You’re only going to have them a few of hours out of the day, then they go back to Ria for the night. Most of the hard stuff you won’t have to deal with – putting them to bed for the night, dealing with nightmares, handling bigger problems like bullies or sickness, whatever. Think of them as practice children,” said Nami.

                “Practice children,” Sanji said dryly. “And what will Ria do to me if I scr- mess up?” He looked for signs that the girls had overheard his almost-swear word. The two caught him staring and help up pictures of the ice cream they’d just eaten, kicking their feet in their chairs. They were getting rowdy again (perhaps letting them have extra sprinkles wasn’t such a good idea – those things were all sugar) and they’d probably need to leave soon.

                “No parent is perfect – I’m quite sure Ria is doing plenty of ‘messing up’ herself, and she doesn’t even have the twin’s F-A-T-H-E-R in the picture for assistance,” said Nami. “But it’ll give you an idea on how to do the bare basics, right? Any exposure to watching children has got to be better than nothing.” She beamed. “After you’ve dropped them off, come back here – I want to show you something.”

                “What?” asked Sanji.

                Nami leaned forward and grinned. “I think I found the perfect apartment.”

 

                After leaving town hall, Sanji wasn’t sure where to take the twins. He thought they might be too little to play in the snow, and he wasn’t sure where to bring children to entertain them. What was he supposed to do with toddlers? Babies he figured might be easier to amuse (wasn’t stupid stuff like “peek-a-boo” a big hit with babies?) and older kids might better at entertaining themselves, but these little girls were a few months shy of three. Could they amuse themselves?

                About a block away from the Cider Mug, the trio happened upon the island’s bookstore. Sanji had attempted to get a job here, too. The owner was a scatter brained sort going by Mr. Pinova who’d been wearing no less than three pairs of reading glasses (one pushed up on his head, one attached to a chain around his neck, and one sitting on the bridge of his nose). He’d been one of the more polite shopkeepers to turn Sanji down (citing that his stock was too unstable for even a part time employee), so a return trip didn’t bother him much.

                The real question was whether or not the twins would be interested in a book store. They were probably too young to read by themselves, although Sanji toyed with the idea of seeing if the shop had any picture books – the girls would probably be able to follow along with the pictures and he could probably read the words aloud to them.

                “Are we going into the bookstore, Uncle Sanji?” asked Wendy, tugging on his coat sleeve.

                “Can we look at ones with pictures? Word books are boring,” said Sundae.

                “When did I become ‘Uncle’ Sanji?” Sanji asked in curiosity as they entered the store.

                The twins ignored his question as they started to open books, disappointed every time they found a “word” book and tossing them aside. Sanji tried to get them to stop, attempting to catch all of the books before they were wrecked while explaining to the girls that it was not okay to throw books.

                He heard a belly laugh from the back of the shop – apparently Mr. Pinova was amused by the twins’ antics. “You know, people assume that children are easy to please, but they’re amongst the harshest critics in the world. An adult will give you the first few pages if you’re lucky, but a child will toss you aside – literally, in this case – if you don’t catch their eye after the first few words.”

                “I am so sorry about this,” said Sanji, finally managing to wrangle the toddlers. He gathered up their discarded books (mostly non-fiction books dealing with advanced mathematical theories – Sanji didn’t agree with the twins’ method, but he more or less agreed with their sentiment) and put them on the counter. Mr. Pinova simply, smiled folding his hands and putting them on the counter. “Do you have any suggestions for-“

                “What’s this, Uncle Sanji?” asked Sundae, pointing at a small spinning rack with a selection of comic books. Wendy joined her sister and they started to turn the rack, looking over the selection. Sanji’s eyes widened – he hadn’t read comics since his early days on _The Orbit_. He stared at the rack fondly, remembering reading the adventure stories by candlelight in his bunk at night.

                “Those are comic books,” Mr. Pinova said. “They tell exciting stories about adventures.”

                Wendy and Sundae turned to look at Mr. Pinova in wonder. “Adventures?” they asked in unison.

                “Yeah, I used to read them when I was a kid,” said Sanji.

                “You use to be a kid?!” Wendy said in amazement. “Wow!”

                Sanji rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, you need to be a child before you get to be an adult.”

                “We’re going to be adults one day?” asked Sundae, looking a little nervous.

                “Well, not for a while – you’ve got a lot of growing to do first,” Mr. Pinova said with a laugh.

                “Aw, I wanted to be a fairy unicorn princess,” Sundae said, sounding a little crestfallen.

                Wendy pulled one of the comics out of the rack. “Can we get this one? The lady on the cover is pretty,” she said. Sundae nodded in agreement and Sanji gently took the comic from the child, checking it over for violence or language that might be too mature for the girls or go over their heads completely. It looked like it was a collection of several issues, detailing several adventures of the main character and her friends. He flipped through the pages to get an idea of what the storyline was, decided it was safe for the girls, and dug into the rest of the money Ria had given him to entertain the girls with.

                The girl on the cover was wearing a blue dress with a pointy blue witch’s hat. She had short blonde hair in two braids and a spackling on freckles on each cheek. She was riding some sort of a large blue bird with what looked like flaming wings (a phoenix, maybe?) and was holding what had to be a magic want in one hand. The book’s title, written in blue script, was _The Sapphire Witch_.

                It wasn’t a title he was familiar with, maybe it started after he stopped reading comics or wasn’t being sold in the North Blue. It was about a girl who had a magic wand that transformed her into the Sapphire Witch, a hero who protected Sunshine Island with the help of a several animal companions who also looked like they fit the gemstone theme. Most of the adventures didn’t seem like anything the girls couldn’t handle, with things like “the Crusty Badger wants all of the town’s toys for himself” and “the Green Horse tries to ruin Princess Honeycomb’s birthday party” serving as plot lines. It was all very colorful, easy to follow, and hopefully enough to keep the girls entertained for the next two hours.

                Wendy and Sundae seemed excited that the comic had been bought, and Sanji led them out of the store, telling the girls to wave good bye to Mr. Pinova and that they’d get some story time once he got them back to The Apple Blossom. The twins cheered loudly and bounced the entire way back to their mother’s shop.

               

                Ria seemed slightly amused with Sanji’s choice for the last leg of his baby-sitting effort, telling him he read to them in the upstairs apartment. “There’s some milk in the fridge – that’ll calm them down enough so you can actually read to them without having to do too much wrangling,” she said. The girls were already on their way up to the apartment, yelling down to Sanji that it was story time. Ria laughed. “You did this to yourself, sugah.”

                “It wasn’t as bad as you made it out to be,” said Sanji. “They behaved just fine.”

                “Oh really? They got you to buy a comic.”

                “You gave me plenty to pay for their ice cream and I had leftovers.”

                Ria frowned. “Didn’t you get any ice cream for yourself?”

                Sanji sighed. “I still need to be careful with what I eat for a while yet, but thanks anyways.”

                The seamstress shrugged. “You know, come to think of it, they’re fully aware you were sick for a while – maybe they decided to go easy on you,” said Ria, crossing her arms. She smiled. “But hey, at least you didn’t end up covered in chocolate pudding . . . or lit on fire.” Sanji’s draw dropped – chocolate pudding, well, he’d seen small children eat before so that made sense, but he couldn’t fathom Wendy and Sundae actually . . .

                _I don’t want to know._

 

                Ria’s apartment was a little messy, but seemed like the kind of mess a single mother of two might have. The sink was full of dirty dishes and there were stuffed animals on the couch and easy chair. Two abandoned coloring books were on the coffee table, and Sanji spied a massive laundry bag down the hall where the bedrooms presumably were.

                After getting the girls their milk (which Wendy wanted to drink from a straw – straws were hidden in one of the cabinet behind some sugary children’s cereal with an almost terrifyingly happy walrus on the box), Sanji ushered the girls to the couch, sat himself on the middle cushion, and patted the spaces beside him.

                “Okay, let’s start at the beginning,” he said, crossing his legs. This was the origin story of the Sapphire Witch and started with her secret identity, Mimi Whistleberry, walking along a country road. “Mimi Whistleberry was walking home from her grandmother’s house after a day of baking pies,” Sanji read aloud.

                “What kind of pies?” asked Sundae.

                “It doesn’t say,” said Sanji.

                “So how do we know what kind of pie she was baking?” asked Wendy, crossing her arms at him.

                Sanji looked at the panel again – there was a house in the background (presumably belonging to the grandmother) and outside were rows of low-lying bushes with pinkish-red dots. “Looks like strawberry pie – see those bushes? They look like strawberry bushes to me.” The twins seemed to accept this answer and started pointing at the next panel, where Mimi was talking.

                “Okay so Mimi says ‘I’m so glad-‘”

                “You’re doing it wrong,” said Wendy.

                Sanji raised an eyebrow at Wendy. “And you learned to read in the last five minutes?”

                “No, I’m almost three, I can’t read,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re talking wrong.”

                Sundae nodded. “Can you please read it in Mimi’s voice, Sanji?”

                Sanji sighed. He considered protesting, but he was outnumbered and they were giving him sad puppy dog eyes. All right, he’d give them theatrics. He cleared his throat and tried to raise his voice as best he could. “’I’m so glad Granny and I were able to get all of those pies ready for the festival tomorrow night! It’s going to be so much fun!’” Wendy and Sundae patted his arms, nodding in approval.

                _The stupid swordsman would never let me hear the end of this if I was here._

                As the afternoon turned to early evening, Sanji continued to read, making up voices for other characters as they came up, and soon found he was getting rather into it. By the time the King of the Forest Goblins appeared to steal the pies so he could have them all to himself (“But won’t that give the goblin a tummy ache if he tries to eat all the pies by himself? Wendy and I got tummy aches when we ate one pie by ourselves and we barfed on Uncle Braeburn’s couch,” Sundae had quipped), he was making silly faces and hand gestures at the girls, which had them giggling and clapping happily.

                By the time the second story had ended, Sanji was so absorbed with entertaining the twins that he hadn’t noticed Ria and Nami standing by the top of the stairs, watching in amusement. Sensing their mother was done with work, the twins cheered and rushed to her side to latch onto the seamstress’s sides. “Looks like you did okay,” said Ria.

                “I really liked the voice you gave Princess Honeycomb,” Nami said teasingly. Sanji pouted – he’d manufactured a prim and proper accent for the princess character that, coming out of him, was particularly ridiculous. Nami laughed and walked over, kissing his forehead. “She sounded like a very pretty princess.”

                “Not as pretty you,” Sanji joked back. Nami seemed a little taken aback, and even the cook took a moment to pause. It had been a long time since he’d said anything flirty to her. He blushed and looked away, unsure if he’d crossed a line. He’d mostly meant it as a friendly retort to her “pretty princess” comment but he couldn’t help but wonder if it had come across the wrong way.  “Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to – I mean you’re not ugly but I wasn’t trying to insinuate- I’m an idiot.”

                Nami shook her head, looking a little confused and flustered herself. “Don’t worry about it.”

                “What are you doing here anyways? I thought I was meeting you at town hall,” said Sanji.

                “Seems like story time ran a little late and Nami got antsy when you didn’t show up,” said Ria. The twins looked up at her with frowns. “What? He’ll be back to watch you again and I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to read you more stories about the Sapphire Witch.” She gave Sanji a wink and a nod, silently letting him know he had a steady second job if he wanted it.

                The twins cheered, excited at the prospect of more story time, breaking away from their mother to tackle Sanji from either side. “Thank you, Uncle Sanji!” they said in unison. Sanji smiled, ruffling their hair a bit before they decided to go back to their mother, bouncing up and down as they traversed the living room floor.

                “Okay, kids, thanks for going easy on him, for me,” said Nami.

                “Not a problem, Auntie Nami!” said Wendy.

                Nami seemed a bit confused by the new moniker, looking at Ria for an answer. The seamstress shrugged. “They continually adopt aunts and uncles – my personal favorite was Uncle Shanks,” she said with a chuckle. “Took it like a pro. He just went along with it and wore the daisy chain necklace they made for him with a smile.”

                “He was pretty,” said Sundae, nodding confidently.

                Sanji and Nami weren’t sure what the appropriate reaction to this was. Shanks was one of the Four Emperors, one of the most powerful pirates sailing the seas right now . . . and he’d allowed a pair of little girls to dress him up in flowers. _I guess Shanks must really care about the people on this island,_ Sanji thought to himself.

                Then again he could see Luffy going along with that, too.

                “Okay then – we’ll make sure Uncle Sanji baby-sits you again really soon, but right now I need to go show him something, okay?” Nami said, leaning forward with her hands on her knees. The twins each gave her a hug, and then ran over to give Sanji another hug, and then said their goodbyes and disappeared down the hall.

                “Thanks again, Sanji – let’s say Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to start?” said Ria. Sanji nodded, smiling and finding himself looking forward to being a baby-sitter again. He shook Ria’s hand, thanked her when she slipped an envelope of money into his other hand, and waved as he followed Nami down the stairs and out of the shop.

 

Author’s Notes

 

Mr. Pinova’s absent-mindedness is based on that thing where someone has their glasses on top of their head but keeps searching around for them anyways, oblivious to where they are.

 

I originally wanted this chapter to focus on the new apartment, but Sanji’s second job as a baby-sitter really needed some setup, too, and I didn’t want their new home to be tacked onto the end of another chapter. That chapter is almost done but feels a little too lean for my liking – going to work on bulking it up some before sending it off for beta.

 

-Dixxy


	12. Apartment 3C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami is excited to show Sanji their new home.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Eleven: Apartment 3C

 

                The building Nami brought Sanji too looked like a large, brick house at least four stories tall and a bit longer than the Thousand Sunny. Although there were some flower beds just starting to bud in the front, there was what looked like a full garden on the east side of the house with creeping vines crawling up the white fencing. On the west side of the building there was a swimming pool, and for a moment Sanji thought it might be nice to go swimming in the summertime.

                He almost cried when he remembered that wasn’t possible anymore.

                Nami started to talk about the building as she lead him up the path. “This was supposed to be a bigger, nicer mansion for the mayor – I guess the last guy was really greedy and wanted this built, but after the attack on the island happened and Mac was made the new mayor, he decided he didn’t want a house that big but suggested it might be a good place for people to stay while the town was rebuilt. So they remodeled it into this so families could have their own spaces.”

                Sanji nodded dumbly as Nami led him through the front door. They were in a modest but comfortable looking lobby area with several chairs and couches to sit on. There was a stairwell on the back wall with a brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. After they took a seat on one of the couches, Nami pointed out that there was a place to do laundry on one side and the landlord’s apartment was on the other. “His apartment is bigger than everyone else’s, but he’s got about five kids and his mother in law living there – he really needs the space,” said Nami. “The other three floors all have four apartments each – two on the west side and two on the east side. We’re going to be looking at the two-bedroom apartment on the east side, third floor.”

                “I guess a two bedroom apartment would make the most sense,” he said, although he was silently concerned about their inability to sleep apart. Try as they might, it still wasn’t happening for them. Nami patted his shoulder, mouthing to him an “I know” before leaning closer to him and cupping her hands over his ear.

                “If we need to start off in the same room that’s okay – as long as we’re not, I don’t know, making drugs or something it’s no one’s business but ours how we’re using the rooms and once we can sleep alone one of us will move into the other bedroom,” she whispered. Nami leaned back and gently took his hand. “It’s really nice – you’ll see why I love it once the landlord gets here.”

                As if on cue, a bald man came down the stairs. He was tall and very lanky, wearing grey dress pants and a purple button up shirt with a gigantic, too-happy grin on his face. “Ah, Miss Nami, how lovely to see you again!” The man walked right up to Nami, taking her hand and kissing it (which briefly made Sanji a little angry, but he let it slide – he didn’t want to start a scene and get her upset). He was just as chipper when he saw him and vigorously shook his hand. “And this must be Mr. Sanji!”

                “Sanji-kun, this is Ben Davis, the landlord,” Nami said.

                Mr. Davis look at Nami in confusion. “. . . ‘-kun’?” he asked.

                “Oh, um, I’ve always just kind of called him that,” she said. Nami laughed nervously. “I’ve just gotten so used to it that I’ve stopped thinking about it.” She turned to Sanji, wringing her hands nervously. “I mean . . . does it bother you that I call you that? If it does I can stop . . . but it might take a while to break the habit . . . . I’m sorry.”

                Sanji shook his head. “I wouldn’t have you call me anything else, Nami-san.”

                “And she’s ‘-san’?”

                Sanji crossed his arms. “Look, I know it’s a little . . . different, but it’s something familiar.”

                “Of course, my apologies,” said Mr. Davis, bowing and frowning. Sanji and Nami exchanged a look – of course he knew they were newcomers to the island. Of course he knew what that usually meant. “This way, please – the vacancy is on the third floor, absolutely lovely space – would have been my first choice if I didn’t need the space.”

                “That sounds promising,” Sanji said calmly as they started to ascend the stairs.

                Mr. Davis nodded. “I do want to apologize again.”

                “It’s all right – we get it. Newcomers are rare and usually come with heavy baggage,” said Nami.

                “Indeed – since Shanks arrived we’ve only had a handful,” said Mr. Davis. He started counting on his fingers. “Including the two of you, there have been six all told.” He seemed to reconsider this. “Well, eight if you count the twins the island’s seamstress delivered upon her arrival here, but since they were born here they sort of don’t count? I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

                Nami raised an eyebrow. “Ria was in labor when she got here?”

                “Ah, you’ve met the town seamstress?”  
                “We actually just left her apartment – she’s one of the first people we met,” said Sanji.

                Mr. Davis nodded. “Mmm. She and the blacksmith, Marcus Braeburn – although if you know Ms. Elstar you probably know Braeburn, too – arrived together. Braeburn was very protective of Ms. Elstar and demanded to see a doctor as soon as their boat was docked. He was a bit nervous, probably because he saw Shanks’ flag, but she was too close to giving birth to find another island. If I recall the story correctly, her water broke once she was on the dock. As luck would have it Shanks was visiting at the time and calmed their worries once the babies were born, and they decided to stay here.”

                Nami seemed to be thinking about something, but didn’t voice it right away. Sanji made a mental note to ask her about it later as they arrived on the third floor landing. The hallway was floored in a dull, well-worn plum carpet and painted a pale blue color. The doors were all navy blue with brass letters and numbers labeling each apartment.

                “There’s an A, B, C, and D on each floor except the first,” said Nami.

                Sanji shrugged. He wanted to see what was so perfect about this apartment.

                Mr. Davis produced a large ring of keys as he approached the door labeled 3C. “The last occupants were pair of sisters – they were married on the same day and moved out to live with their new husbands. They left everything in wonderful condition – possibly better than when they first moved in,” he said with a grin as the lock finally clicked open.

                The landlord stepped in first, then held the door open for Sanji and Nami. The redhead went in after, excitedly coaxing her companion to step over the threshold and see for himself. Once the cook stepped inside and looked around, he immediately knew what it was that drew the navigator to this apartment and why she was so excited.

                The first part of the apartment was all one giant room with hardwood flooring – pine, if Sanji had to guess, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he was an expert on, that was more Usopp or Franky’s expertise – with a large peninsula separating the kitchen from the rest of the space – he’d heard the term “open concept” before and guessed this was what was meant.

                The kitchen, from what he glanced (and it was a quick look at best), was a little on the snug side but he’d worked in smaller spaces before (the Going Merry’s galley, for example), but with the right tools it would be fine for just the two of them. Still, even with all of his passion for food and cooking and all that encompassed the culinary arts, there was still something that demanded his attention even more than that kitchen.

                On the east wall was a pair of glass pane doors.

                Sanji slowly approached the doors, stunned by what he was seeing – the view was breathtaking. The only things to the east of the building were the garden, the tree line, the ocean, and the sky, and it was all framed by the door frame. Just outside of the doors was a small balcony with a wrought iron railing – a perfect place for a small table and pair of chairs for coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon. Sanji stepped outside to look around better – to one side he could see what must have been the island’s precious apple orchards, and to the other side was the town. 

                This was why Nami had fallen in love with this apartment.

                Nami had silently slid next to him. “We’d get to see the sun rise every morning,” she said.

                Sanji closed his eyes, leaning on the railing as he fought back tears. During his days as Luffy’s cook, the sunrise was something he saw almost daily – if he wasn’t up early to make breakfast, it was the signal for the end of a night watch shift. Over time he stopped noticing it for the sight it was, simply taking it as a measure of time.

                And then he and Nami had been kidnapped and locked away in the dark, windowless hold of That Man’s ship. After a year of nothing but metal walls, darkness, and chill of that ship, having a place like this to view the sunrise in the morning was almost more than they could have possibly asked for. He almost hated that it was late afternoon, but even with the sun on the opposite side of the building, possibly inspiring awe for the occupants in the west apartments, the scene was still colored with oranges and pinks and purples as the night began to creep over on the horizon.

                “Can we afford this?” Sanji asked.

                Nami nodded. “Indeed we can.”

                Sanji turned to the landlord. “When can we move in?”

 

                Three days later, Sanji and Nami were officially out of Mac’s house. The mayor was sad to see them go, but happy that they felt strong enough to try living on their own. Cobbler, seeming to sense what was going on, was incredibly sad and whimpered at them as they left, bearing the few possessions they had accumulated since coming to the island.

                Their friends helped a little with getting them started as well. Mac chipped them a few thousand berries as a housewarming gift, encouraging them to start making the apartment into a home. Braeburn was waiting for them at the building with a full set of pots and pans (Sanji’s attempt to contain his gratitude resulted in a high pitched squeal and hugging the blacksmith). Ria promised to either purchase or make them a housewarming gift once she was caught up at the shop, though she hinted at curtains. Last but not least, Gala gave them a tea set including a pot and matching cups as well as several herbal teas he felt may relax, soothe, and help heal them.

                Apartment 3C sported the open-concept living area with kitchen, two bedrooms of comparable size (the master was only a few square meters larger than the other), a full sized bathroom, and a storage closet for things the pair currently didn’t have. Using Nami’s monetary sensibilities, they were able to find good deals on some of the basics they would need for the apartment and before long had a livable space.

                The living room area was furnished with a colorful variety of second-hand pieces including an overstuffed easy chair in peacock blue, a “stupid swordsman green” loveseat (Sanji pointed out it looked like the swordsman’s hair, and soon after they jokingly referred to it as “Zoro’s loveseat”), and a red couch that was good for stretching out on. Underfoot was a rug that, after discovering a stain, Nami was able to haggle the price down a lot, and then they covered the stain with a coffee table that needed a book under one leg to keep from wobbling.

                All of the apartments in the building were given the basic kitchen appliances (refrigerator with freezer, stove with oven, and a device Sanji wanted to declare his undying love to called a “dishwasher”) so it was just plates, glasses, flatware, and the pots and pans Braeburn had made. There were still things Sanji wanted (chief among them a good set of chef’s knives), but they both understood it wasn’t going to be an overnight process to fully the furnish the apartment, even considering that it was a temporary living space.

                Even with everything they’d gone through over the past year, Shanks’ story about Luffy still searching for them after so much time had passed with renewing their hope that yes, their captain was coming for them soon and one day they would be able to leave this island and be pirates again. It may not be right away, but they were in an odd position where they wanted to be comfortable but not so comfortable it would be difficult to leave.

                Except for one set of rooms.

                Bedding was the place they decided to go the extra mile, and after a lengthy discussion about their inability to sleep apart, they settled on only one bed for the time being. Once they were able to sleep alone again, Sanji would sleep on the couch until they procured a second bed for the other bedroom. In the meantime, though, they found the best of everything the island could offer – mattress, sheets, pillows, etc. The only pieces they bothered to go second hand on was the frame, headboard, and footboard – those were immaterial  to actual comfort, and Sanji let Nami choose one she wanted under the assumption that a month or two later they’d be repeating that trip for himself.

                “I’m not leaving this bed,” Sanji proclaimed, lying face first into his pillow and bundled up under the covers. Nami glanced over at him, watching him hug the pillow and sigh happily. She closed her book and put it in her lap. “This is the best thing ever. I am so comfortable right now. You’re going to have to drag me out of here at gunpoint tomorrow morning.”

                Nami rolled her eyes. “Oh really?”

                “I will stay here forever.”

                “And your job?”

                Sanji whined.

                “Luffy and the others?”

                The cook pulled a pillow over his head.

                “All Blue?”

                Sanji went quiet. “Maybe.”

                Nami sighed. “Yeah, I like it too.” She put her book on her nightstand (an old piece with chipped paint and a wobbly knob) and flicked off the lamp (which had a coral pink base and a lime green shade) before settling in herself. “We’ll make sure we get another one for you when the time comes.” She grinned mischievously. “You can probably even bring girls back here, right?”

                Even though it was dark, Nami could scarcely make out Sanji pouting. “I . . . don’t know.”

                “Sanji-kun, is everything okay? You’ve been acting . . . different . . . around girls. At least, different for you,” said Nami. She reached over and touched his cheek. “Part of me can’t believe I’m saying this but I’m a little worried that you aren’t freaking out over every pretty girl you’ve seen since we’ve arrived. It’s not like you.”

                Sanji sighed, tightening the covers around him. “I never told you about him.”

                “Who’s him?” asked Nami.

                “This . . . recurring hallucination I was having on the ship. It was me, but it wasn’t me. Always in a suit and always mocking me, telling me that I was so lucky to be able to sleep with you at night because it’s what I always wanted or reminding me of the feelings I’ve had for some of the women we’ve fought against in the past. I didn’t like what he was saying.” He closed his eyes. “I was _never_ turned on by cuddling with you in the holding cell.”

                “You tried to grab my ass once,” Nami pointed out.

                “Force of habit and I got over it quick and no, I wasn’t even close to getting any of those kind of jollies from that,” Sanji said. He took a deep breath. “Point is, it . . . made me reevaluate a lot of things. Being here made me reevaluate a lot of things, too – I’ve never had a friendship with another man like the one I have with Braeburn. Even with the other Straw Hats or the chefs at the Baratie – I was always fighting with them or yelling at them for something or being mean to them. It’s not like that at all with Braeburn – we’re civil. Almost like where you and I are now. And . . .”

                Nami urged him on. “Go on.”

                “It makes me feel . . . awful, about how I treated the other Straw Hats – even you and Robin. We had our good moments, sure, but I was such a dick to the guys and I didn’t even treat you and Robin right, either. I’m glad you and I are getting along so well but it frustrates me that the others aren’t here because I have a lot of things I need to say to them, especially ‘I’m sorry’.” Sanji moved closer to her, resting his head by her shoulder. “I am.”

                “I have things I need to apologize for, too,” said Nami, thinking about the “debts” the other Straw Hats “owed” her. “And I don’t know how those conversations are going to go. But we know that Luffy was looking for us – whatever it was we did or didn’t do right, it wasn’t enough to make them not want us back after we disappeared. Luffy can’t be the only one on that ship upset that we never made it back to the Thousand Sunny.”

                Sanji seemed to consider this. “It doesn’t mean I’m ready to start dating again.”

                “You don’t have to do it right away. And besides, it would be weird if either one of us tried to date right now with . . . this,” Nami referred to the area around them, hinting at their sleeping arrangement. “Even if we know it’s platonic, that would probably make someone else feel really uncomfortable.”

                “Unless they like three-ways,” said Sanji. Nami stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed a little. “So you mentioned yourself there, too – are you thinking about dating, Nami-san?” He contemplated this a moment. “Actually, I’ve never seen you express interest in romance before – I know you told me you’re still a virgin but have you ever gone on a date or anything?”

                Nami shook her head. “No, I haven’t. It’s not that I wouldn’t have minded it under different circumstances, but . . . I didn’t want to get anyone else tangled up with Arlong. It wouldn’t be fair to him. If Arlong found out I had a boyfriend he’d probably have him killed or use him against me somehow. Up until you and Luffy and the others saved the island, it just . . . wasn’t an option for me.”

                “So you probably haven’t been kissed. You know, outside of family, on the lips,” said Sanji.

                “Nope, never on the lips. Not even that. Just pecks on the cheek or the top of the head from Bellemere and Nojiko . . . and you, actually,” said Nami. “I know Nojiko had her first kiss when we were children – it was some sort of a dare between a bunch of the boys on the island and she got mad and chased after them with a rake and then Bellemere got angry and I was just happy because I wasn’t the one in trouble for once . . . but it never happened to me.”

                “Does that bother you?” asked Sanji.

                “Not really – they probably assumed I’d react like Nojiko, and they were probably right,” she said with a laugh. “But I guess now that I’m a few months away from twenty it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to dip my big toe in the ocean, you know?” She sat up. “What about you, Sanji-kun? What about your first kiss?”

                “Ah, that,” said Sanji, sitting up as well. He pulled his pillow into his lap and leaned over it. “I was about twelve, I think, and there was a girl around my age at the restaurant who was crying because she’d lost a bracelet her mom had given her, and the mother had passed away a few months earlier so she was really freaking out. A bunch of the other cooks and I searched all over the place for it and I was the one who found it. She was completely over the moon, threw her arms around me, kissed me, said thank you about a dozen times before she then ran off to leave with her father. I just kind of stood there like an idiot for five minutes until Zeff yelled at me to get back to work.”

                Nami laughed. “So you were her hero.”

                “Damn straight I was,” said Sanji.

                They were quiet for a while, but neither had fallen asleep – Nami could tell by the way Sanji was breathing that he was still awake. The conversation they had was keeping her mind a buzz, and a nagging thought refused to leave her alone. _No, that’s crazy, Nami – don’t think like that._ But the idea wouldn’t budge, and she decided that she could handle whatever the worst possible outcome would be.

                “. . . say, I got a crazy idea.” Nami was looking around coyly. Sanji had an odd feeling  he knew where she was going with it. “You know, I’ve never been kissed before, and it would be nice to know it’s someone I trust giving me my first one. Or, me giving them my first one. However it works, you know. So I was thinking maybe . . .”

                “Are you serious?” Sanji asked incredulously. “You want me to be your first?”

                “It’s my first kiss, not my virginity,” Nami said dryly. “And don’t ask about the second one.”

                “No, no, of course not!” said Sanji, putting his hands up defensively. He lowered his defenses, looking at her with concern. He was game, it seemed, but he wanted to make sure she was up for this – really up for this, and that it wasn’t some sort of passing fancy she’d regret later on. “Nami-san, you sure?”

                Nami thought about it, then nodded.

                “Okay,” said Sanji. He moved a little closer to her, studying her face for a moment. Nami was studying his back, neither moving in too close too quickly. They stayed like that for a moment, the quiet of the room hanging over them like a thick blanket before Sanji closed the gap between them, closed his eyes, turned his head, and pressed his lips to hers.

                Nami moved back a little at first, but stopped to gently lean into the kiss, putting her hands on his shoulder as he gently put his hands on her waist. It was gentle, sweet, and more pleasant than she had figured it would be. His lips and hands were warm and she could taste a hint of the tea he’d had after dinner on his lips. They stayed that way for a few second before Sanji pulled away, a small smile on his face.

                “Okay?” he asked.

                “Yeah,” said Nami, putting her fingertips to her lips. “I . . . thank you.”

               

                The following morning (which Nami had off but Sanji didn’t), the pair got dressed and ate breakfast as normal, chatting briefly about their separate plans for the day (Nami was going to run some errands, Sanji would be babysitting Wendy and Sundae after he left the Cider Mug). After telling the cook she’d take care of the dishes, the navigator walked him to the door.

                “Have a good day at work,” Nami said with a smile.

                Sanji smiled back and winked. “Thanks for taking care of the dishes. You’re my hero today.”

                After the door closed behind him, Nami felt the room go a little colder. 

 

Author’s Notes

(From Original Posting) 

See, a lot of times I like to watch anime and super hero movies, but, um, with the right shows I will watch the shit out of HGTV (straight ladies and gay gentlemen, check out Property Brothers just for the hosts AND BEST OF ALL THEY ARE TWINS SO IT’S TWO HOTTIES *paws at TV*) and I actually miss Linens N’ Things (Bed Bad and Beyond doesn’t have as many obnoxiously bright colors and I am all about the obnoxiously bright colors).  So yes, there was some home décor and layout talk this time around.

(June 27, 2016) 

Hey guys!

So after a hiatus I did NOT think was going to happen I'm going to be updating this fic again. First order of business is to get this up to date on Archive of Our Own, and then getting the new chapter out (which is currently in the hands of my beta). I will also be including some updated Author's Notes as well since a lot of time has passed. You can expect about 1-2 chapters a day :)

Thanks!

Dixxy

 


	13. Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Braeburn convinces Nami to try out for his band. It doesn't end well.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Twelve: Auditions

 

                It was a week or two after Sanji had kissed Nami, and things were going well. Little by little the apartment was being filled with more homey touches and, physically, they were much improved. Nami was back to her weight prior to being kidnapped (Sanji still had about ten pounds to go, but he’d lost more than she had and had a higher metabolism – he didn’t eat as much as, say, Luffy, but she’d never noticed that between meals the cook could be easily spotted snacking on something), but not the same shape.

                For one, her chest was much, much smaller.

                Nami was a little torn than she’d dropped several cup sizes (she’d gone from an I to a DD, according to Ria), but she was discovering that, in a way, she felt a little bit better. When she’d talked to Gala about it, he said that extreme weight loss in women sometimes led to reduced cup sizes, and she’d lost a lot of weight for a woman already in a healthy weight range. The doctor then went on to explain that larger breasted women often had back problems later in life (which, considering her slim waist, he guessed she would be at a higher risk than usual) and did a spit take when she told him her pre-That Man chest size.

                _“Do they even make bras in than size?!”_ he had asked, looking genuinely alarmed.

_“It was tough to find them but yeah, they do.”_

_“I’m going to be keeping an eye on your spine just to be safe.”_

_“Not a breast man, Gala?”_

_“Har, har, very funny. You know what’s not funny? A curved spine before you’re forty.”_

                The other part of her body that didn’t seem to match was her waist, hips, and thighs – those were a smidge bigger (and accounted for her weight matching her pre-captivity days despite smaller breasts). She was still thin (Ria pegged her at a size 6) but she used to be a size 2. After several looks in the mirror, though, she decided the rearrangement of her weight wasn’t so bad – she still looked good and maybe a little healthier, too, the more she thought about Gala’s concern over her back.

                Best of all, spring was in the air. The last of the snow was gone and flowers were starting to bloom. There were still signs of winter, such as patches of dirt where the grass wasn’t back yet and a lack of birds chirping, but she was able to go out with a light jacket instead of a winter coat and mostly bare legs under the skirt of her dress.

                It was another one of her days off and Sanji’s days on. Working for Mac gave her a steady schedule Monday through Friday, but the nature of the restaurant business gave her roommate different hours and he was usually at the Cider Mug at least one weekend morning a week. Today’s errand was restocking their cleaning supplies (there had been an incident with the twins trying to “help” Sanji in the kitchen that ended . . . poorly).

                As she was on her way home, she spotted Braeburn coming the other way. Nami waved, giving the blacksmith a smile. He returned the gesture and stopped to greet her, holding a stack of paper in front of him. “Hello, Nami, how are you this afternoon?” he asked, giving her a brief hug and a pat on the back.

                “I’m all right – Sanji-kun and I were running low on cleaning supplies after the twins were over.”

                Braeburn winced. “What happened?”

                “Chocolate pudding happened. They ‘helped’ make it.”

                The blacksmith laughed. “That’ll do it. They mean well . . . most of the time . . . they just don’t have the motor skills to back it up quite yet – being little ones and all. In a couple of years I’m sure they’ll be much better if they want to help someone in the kitchen.” He sighed, looking nostalgic for a moment, before he shook his head and chuckled awkwardly. “Get everything you need to clean up the mess?”

                “Oh no, no, the mess is all cleaned up, it just killed our stock,” said Nami, holding up her basket.

                “Ah, well that’s good,” said Braeburn.

                Nami eyed the paper in Braeburn’s hand. “So, what do you have there?” she asked.

                The blacksmith paused for a moment, looked at what he was carrying, and realization lit up. “Oh! It’s April, so my band and I are holding auditions to find a replacement vocalist. Everyone’s a lot less angry than they were so we think we’re in a good headspace to start looking for Deltana’s replacement. I’ve been hanging fliers around town advertising it.”

                Recognition clicked in Nami’s brain. “Oh yeah! Jimmy from the Cider Mug and some other guy – what was it, Danny, David, Darren . . . Darryl! It was Darryl! Yeah, they stopped by the mayor’s office asking to borrow the town hall for a few days last week and I had them fill out the forms myself. So that’s what they were up to, huh?”

                “Indeed it was – I just sent Jimmy but, yeah, it makes sense Darryl would be there, too.”

                Nami remembered the incident well. She’d met Jimmy before from visiting Sanji at work, but Darryl was new. He was a bit stockier than Jimmy, with much darker hair and sharp green eyes. He was the quieter of the two, with Sanji’s co-worker doing all of the talking. She cocked her head to one side. “I guess that explains why Jimmy did all of the talking.”

                Braeburn frowned. “Not exactly,” he said. He sat down on a nearby bench and motioned for Nami to sit with him. “The two of them are close – really close. Best friends since they were babies. But, well, Darryl lost both of his parents during the pirate attack eight years ago. It really messed him up, and he doesn’t talk much anymore. In all the time I’ve known him I think I’ve heard him say maybe ten words.”

                The young woman lowered her eyes. “Everyone talks about how newcomers to the island bring baggage with them, but a lot of people who’ve been here a long time have it, too,” she said somberly. “It’s terrible to lose someone in an attack like that.”

                Braeburn put his hand on her shoulder. “Voice of experience?” he asked quietly.

                Nami nodded. “My mother. If it’s okay, I’d rather not get into it right now.” Braeburn still looked concerned, but nodded and allowed Nami to change the subject. She pointed at his fliers. “So the fliers are for your band’s auditions, right?” Braeburn nodded. “Can I see one?” Braeburn handed Nami one of the fliers. “Friday and Saturday nights at the Cider Mug, huh? Sanji-kun was telling me they used to have live entertainment,” she said. She murmured over the flier, looking at the time commitments (practices were at night Monday through Wednesday), pay (a percentage of what the Cider Mug brought in that night plus a base rate), and desired experience (intermediate to advanced preferred, willing to work with the right novice or beginner).

                “Would you like to try out?” said Braeburn. “I’m sure you have a lovely voice.”

                Nami laughed nervously. “Oh, no I don’t,” she said.

                “Oh, come on, a pretty girl like you? The worst that will happen is we say ‘no’,” said Braeburn. He patted her shoulder. “Jimmy, Darryl and I are holding auditions next week – I know you’ve got work with Mac but we’re doing it in the evening so you should be out.” Nami continued to think about it – she didn’t think she had a particularly good voice, but maybe she was just being too hard on herself or something.

                “All right, what the hell, right?” she said. Braeburn seemed excited, set up a time with her, and thanked her for giving it a shot.

 

_Elsewhere  . . ._

 

                Unrelated to the “pudding incident”, Sanji had agreed to watch the twins an extra afternoon that week (Ria had practically begged him, explaining there was a wedding coming up and she had to take final measurements and make final adjustments for the bride, groom, and the rest of the bridal party) but, with the warmer weather coming, decided to take the girls out to the park. There was a small playground near the Apple Blossom with some swings, a slide, and monkey bars, and the girls looked overjoyed to be able to play on them.

                But after Sundae fell from the monkey bars and would have hit the sand below if Sanji hadn’t been paying close enough attention (“Uncle Sanji, you SAVED MY LIFE!”), the girls decided they were done with the playground equipment and wanted to do “something else outside”. It was a nice day so Sanji didn’t mind being outside, but what to do?

                Tag seemed like it had the potential to get too rough for children this young, and there was no way in HELL he was going to agree to Hide and Seek with a pair of toddlers (since if he was the seeker and they were too good at hiding, which he didn’t want to chance, Ria would be furious with him), so maybe he could teach them some simple games with songs, like “Ring Around the Rosey”. That was easy – hold hands, walk around in the circle, sing the song, and fall to the ground when the sound was over.

                “All right, so the first thing we need to do is learn the song – it’s pretty easy,” said Sanji.

                “ _Ring around the rosey_

_Pocket full of posies_

_Ashes, ashes,_

_We all fall down._ ”

                The cook smiled. “Now you girls try.”

                Wendy and Sundae kept singing “ponies” instead of “posies”, but after a while Sanji deemed it was close enough and taught them how to fall down without getting hurt. The girls seemed to really enjoy this and made Sanji do the circle and the song with then at least a dozen times before they wanted to try something else.

                While Sanji was trying to decide between the Hokey Pokey and Pat-a-Cake, Wendy and Sundae started to tug on his shirt. “Yes, my ladies?” he asked.

                “You sing really good,” said Wendy.

                “No, he sings really _well_ ,” said Sundae.

                Sanji laughed. “Oh come on, girls, it’s-“

                “No, good!”

                “It’s well, I’m sure!”

                “Good!”

                “Well!”

                “Good!”

                “Well!”

                “ _Good!_ ”

                “ _Well!_ ”

                “ _Good times two!”_

_“Well times three!”_

_“Good times a million!”_

_“You can’t do good times a million, we can’t count that high!”_

                Although some lesson from some teacher long ago told Sanji that Sundae was the one who was, in the sentence structure sense, correct (although how she’d picked that up he didn’t know – she must have overheard it or something – and how he even remembered that he REALLY didn’t know), he didn’t think the girls were right about him being a good singer. Worse, shrill voices did not do good things to his now sensitive hearing, so the yelling needed to end. “Hey, hey, calm down, girls – it’s not a big deal, okay?”

                The twins stared at each other for a moment. “We’re sorry,” they said in unison.

                “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Sanji said, squatting down to talk to them on their level. His head was starting to throb a little, but he forced a smile for their sake. “You silly geese really think I can sing though?”

                “Uh huh, you have a nice voice,” said Wendy.

                Sundae nodded in agreement (as she evidently saw no flaws in her sister’s sentence that time).

                “You sure? I don’t think I have a good voice,” he said.

                “No way!” said Wendy.

                “It was good,” said Sundae.

                Wendy pointed at her sister. “I told you it was good!”

                “Not the time you said it!”

                “Good!”

                “Well!”

                Sanji groaned, handing them each a baggy of grapes (sweet enough to appease small children, far less sugar and calories to appease their mom, and chewy enough to relieve his poor ears). He held back his smirk when they started to focus on eating the fruit instead of their argument, and he started to round them up for they could go back home to their mom.

                He’d be doing something for his headache back at the apartment.

 

_A few days later . . ._

 

                Auditions for Braeburn’s band were being held in town hall. Nami had found the band waiting inside, smiling warmly and asking her what she’d prepared. She handed Jimmy the sheet music to the song she wanted to sing, and he passed it over to Braeburn. The blacksmith moved towards a piano they’d set up with Darryl and Jimmy sat behind a table with some paper and pencils, presumably to take notes.

                “All right – I’m going to give you an intro, so get ready to jump in,” said Braeburn. “Ready?”

                Nami nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

                As Braeburn began to play the opening bars, Nami waited for the appropriate moment to start singing. As the into ended, she started to sing her heart out, loud and proud and guttural, letting her voice vibrate like she’d heard so many other singers do in the past. Deciding this was a lot of fun, she started to march around a little, spinning on the balls of her feet and waving her arms about in time with the music.

                Nami finished the last note of her audition song and turned her focus to Braeburn and the other members of his band. Since Braeburn had told her about the audition, Nami had been practicing off and on and decided that, well, maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she could be the new front woman for Braeburn’s band. She clasped her hands together and smiled. “So, how did I do, guys?”

                Braeburn, Jimmy, and Darryl all looked . . . blown away, but not in the good way. Braeburn had developed an odd twitch in one eye, Jimmy’s mouth was hanging open and his eyes looked a little glossy, and Darryl looked like he’d just been given very bad news. Nami didn’t need them to tell her the audition had gone poorly.

                “Uh . . . we’ll call you?” Jimmy asked awkwardly.

                Nami frowned. “I told Braeburn I wasn’t very good.” She sighed – it hurt a little to know she hadn’t impressed them, but at least they would find someone else, right? “Well, I’m sure you guys have other vocalists to listen to, right?” She went to grab her purse and collect the sheet music from her audition some from Braeburn.

                The members of the band looked concerned. “Um . . . you were our only audition,” said Jimmy.

                Nami raised her eyebrow. “Huh?”

                “Well . . . part of it’s the time commitment, so a lot of otherwise capable vocalists on the island have families or jobs to worry about,” said Braeburn. His gaze darkened. “I also wouldn’t be surprised if Deltana messed with some other possible replacements – she was pretty mad when we kicked her out of the band and I wouldn’t put it past her.”

                “Mess with them how?” asked Nami.

                “Don’t know, but some of the gals on the island I know have talent didn’t seem interested. At all,” said Jimmy. “Some of them were all, well, what Beebs said about work and family, but some of them couldn’t get away from us fast enough. If I had to guess? Maybe blackmail. Nothing serious in the ‘hey I know where you hid the bodies’ sense but maybe embarrassing photos, threatening to humiliate them – you know, petty bullshit.”

                Nami stepped over to the table where Darryl and Jimmy were seated as Braeburn sauntered over from the piano. “You mentioned ‘gals’ – are you looking at male vocalists at all?” she asked, her arms crossed in curiosity. The flier hadn’t mentioned anything about so much as a preference for a female singer, but she wondered why Jimmy had singled out the fairer sex. “For that matter, can any of you sing?”

                Braeburn scratched his head. “Well, Darryl isn’t a man of many words.” Darryl rolled his eyes and turned away from the blacksmith in response. “Jimmy’s got a great voice, but he’s had problems with breathing in the past, so he usually prefers to stay on background vocals if we need it. I can sing if need be, but I much prefer sticking to what I know and love best.”

                “And as for preferring a woman?” asked Nami.

                “We don’t really prefer a man or woman – I’m personally not aware of a talented male vocalist on the island. At least, not one strong enough to support a band,” said Jimmy. “I guess it would give us a chance to branch out in other directions – we usually do covers and most of our songs are sung from a woman’s perspective. There are a few that can be sung by a man or a woman, but we’d get to learn some new songs.”

                “Okay, so we can go with a male singer, fine, that doesn’t change that we currently don’t have one of either sex,” said Braeburn. “So we need a new plan to get more auditions because if not we’re done. Any ideas? Anyone?”

                Nami gingerly raised her hand. “I could help.”

                Jimmy turned to her inquisitively. “Oh?”

                “Just because I can’t sing doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a good voice if I heard one, right?” asked Nami. She smiled. Yeah, this wasn’t a bad idea – she liked Braeburn and his friends and helping them find a new singer would be a good idea, right? “I get a lot of people in and out of town hall all day – I can try to talk some people up if you’d like.”

                Darryl nodded, grinning and putting a hand on her shoulder.

                “Darryl’s right – it’s worth a shot,” said Braeburn. “Okay, Nami, let us know if you find anyone.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
>  (Original posting)
> 
> Nami’s breast size was actually something Triple C and I had talked about at length during the early phases of development (no pun intended).
> 
>  
> 
> Minor note – the birds chirping thing reminded me of an early, early draft of Mass x Acceleration: Chapter One, as that was originally what alerted Nami to her new environment (but seeing as it was in the middle of winter, well, birdies getting taken out was probably for the best).
> 
>  
> 
> Sundae’s logic was flawless this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> And I forgot to put this in the Author’s Notes last chapter but Strawhat-Nakama (and more recently, Funnie) raised an extremely good question that I haven’t really addressed too much in the story. Because Tesla cut off all their hair towards the end of A Force Against Inertia, they don’t have as much hair as they did even pre-time skip. Some of it probably came back before they escaped (like, very little since it would have only been a week or two) but at this point they still don’t have a whole lot of hair. Now, in our world, human hair grows at an average rate of six inches a year (or about half an inch a month). Certain things like diet and exercise can affect this, so it’s possible that between Sanji’s culinary knowledge and Gala’s medical expertise it’s growing a LITTLE faster than the average rate but I would hesitate to give them anymore than two or three inches. Nami’s been utilizing wigs, Sanji I’m not really sure – I’m visualizing him the way he in the series (part one – if he starts styling it as in part two I’ll let y’all know in story) so he may have acquired one at some point, especially considering his eyebrow situation, but as far as their actual hair goes it’s still very short. This may be addressed in a few chapters with an idea I’ve thought about doing for a while.
> 
>  
> 
> Now Funnie’s version of the question also included what else they looked like and whether or not they were using their Devil Fruits. For their abilities I would like to save that for in-story discussion. For appearances (wow, long Author’s Notes), Nami’s discussed a little more in-depth this chapter (smaller breasts, bigger hips, thighs, and waistline). Sanji’s still maybe a bit too thin by this chapter but over the course of the next several he’ll be back to the right weight. He likely has the same posture and notably isn’t smoking – neither of them are drinking alcohol and caffeine intake is probably limited.
> 
>  
> 
> Some of the coming arcs contain the material I am most excited about but includes some of the material I am also the most worried about it, so there’s a good chance the speed of the fic could increase a lot (i.e. the material has really snagged my interest) or decrease (i.e. I’m hunting down extra people to look over chapters and passages to make sure things are being handled well).
> 
>  (2016)
> 
> Ack, sorry I missed a yesterday's update! I'll post a few tonight while I wait for 831 spoilers to drop.
> 
> In retrospect I have mixed feelings about the band stuff in this story, and I did make a minor edit to some dialogue but otherwise yeah no other comments right now. 
> 
> Dixxy


	14. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins have decided Sanji can sing, and Ria puts Nami up to asking Sanji about auditions.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Thirteen: Discovered

 

                Braeburn had been right – most people really didn’t have the time for the band.

                Every time someone walked into town hall, Nami innocently asked if anyone was interested in auditioning or if they knew someone who was, and it was a never-ending procession of the word “no”. People were too busy with their jobs and their families, and those who weren’t busy with those things supported Jimmy’s theory about Deltana and blackmail with their sudden change in disposition from friendly and cheerful to uncomfortable and awkward.

                But it was only two days later – Thursday was still young, maybe she’d have more luck that day.

                “Auntie Nami!!!”

                Nami smiled to see the twins burst through the door of town hall, followed by their tired looking mother. Wendy and Sundae were bouncing up and down at her desk, talking at the same time about what they’d had for breakfast and what their mother was doing there. Nami smiled and nodded, listening as best she could as she produced a pair of lollipops for the girls if they promised to keep it down so she and Mommy could get business stuff done.

                The girls agreed this was a good plan.

                “Making me deal with a sugah crash this early in the day, sugah?” Ria asked.

                “Well, they’re quiet. What have you got for me today, Ria?” Nami asked, folding her arms.

                “Nothing too exciting, just informing the town I hired a replacement for the B-I-T-C-H who walked out on my shop,” said Ria. Nami nodded, looking over the paperwork and grabbing the appropriate stamps. “How are you doing, sugah? We haven’t had a chance to talk since you got the new apartment – I still want to get you those curtains, just let me know the color you want.”

                “No rush – we have some blinds that are doing the practical part for now, we can worry about pretty colors when you’re not so swamped,” said Nami. She sighed as Ria took a seat on the edge of her desk, keeping one eye on her children and another on her friend. “As for what I’m up to, Braeburn had me audition for his band.”

                “Oh, how’d it go?” Ria asked.

                “I’m not cut out for the music world,” Nami said with a nervous laugh. “I can’t sing, but I’m okay with that. I told him I couldn’t sing but he was all ‘no, no, I’m sure you have a lovely voice’ and I proved him wrong. But I did volunteer to help them find a new singer to replace that other one.” She sighed. “So far I’ve had no luck. Either people don’t have the time for the band or are afraid of something . . . I just can’t find a good singer.”

                “Mmm, I hear you. I’d love to help them out, too, but I have toddlers– not happening.”

                “Can you sing?” asked Nami.

                “Yes, but I’m raising two kids by myself and running my own business  - I’m the poster child of that first group you spoke of,” said Ria. “If the girls were a little older and the business was a little more self sustainable then maybe I could take the time to do it, but both of those things are several years away – at least the girls getting older part, I wouldn’t mind the shop suddenly taking off.” She laughed. “But sadly, it’s just not the right time for me.”

                Nami sighed. “Guess we’re still on the hunt for a singer then.”

                During the adult’s conversation, Wendy had wandered over with her lollipop, Sundae following behind, both girls having somehow managed to get their lollipops down to the white paper sticks (now each sporting a damp, green end) already. The twins exchanged a look, then turned their eyes to Nami. “What about Uncle Sanji? He can sing really good.”

                “Wendy! He can sing really _well_ ,” Sundae corrected.

                Wendy glared. “Good!”

                “Well!” Sundae said back.

                “Good!”

                “Well!”

                “Inside voices!” Ria barked. The twins quieted, but continued arguing in hushed whispers.

                Nami pouted. “Where did they get that idea? I don’t think Sanji-kun sings.”

                Ria turned to her daughters in curiosity. “Actually, come to think of it, they picked up a couple of kid’s songs I don’t remember teaching them a few days ago - they’ve been singing them in their room. I guess Sanji must have taught them one of the last times he was watching them and, apparently, it struck a chord with them. You sure he doesn’t sing?”

                Nami shook her head. “No, I’m positive he doesn’t like to sing. Back . . . before, our captain was very insistent on finding a musician – even before important jobs like ‘cook’ and ‘doctor’. Sometimes he tried to get everyone involved in some sing-a-longs until we found a musician willing to join, but Sanji-kun was always very reluctant – the only times I ever saw him seem to get into it was in a big crowd, so I’ve never really heard his voice.”

                “Interesting,” said Ria, looking at her girls in curiosity. “If it was a crowd, he probably figured his voice was drowned out by everyone around him . . . or there was alcohol involved and he didn’t care.” She closed her eyes. “But he went that much out of his way to avoid being heard? I mean, even if it was just a small group of people – friends, even – just having fun?”

                “Yeah, really,” said Nami. “Luffy never pushed it too hard – it wasn’t important enough to warrant a fight or making people unhappy, and we did eventually find ourselves a musician so the problem is basically solved at this point . . . even if said musician does have a pronounced F-E-T-I-S-H for P-A-N-T-I-E-S.”

                Ria stared at Nami. “What?”

                “Never mind. It’ll make sense if you meet him,” said Nami.

                The seamstress shook her head and turned her attention to the girls, who were now sword fighting with their lollipop sticks. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever. But back to the original point . . . my girls seem pretty convinced Sanji can sing. If you’re serious about helping Braeburn, maybe you’ll want to see if you can talk him into an audition.”

                “Okay, you want me to talk Sanji-kun, who has a history of avoiding his singing voice being heard, to audition for a band where he’d be the lead vocalist, based on the word of a pair of toddlers?” Nami asked. Ria nodded with a smile. “Okay, I need to hear logic behind this, because it sounds like you’re asking for the impossible.”

                “You don’t spend a lot of time around small children,” said Ria. She put a hand on the desk and leaned over. “Let me tell you a secret – kids are the harshest critics you will ever meet. If they don’t like something, they won’t have any of it. Observe.” Ria called over to her girls. “Hey, how do you girls feel about having asparagus with your dinner tonight?”

                Wendy and Sundae looked at their mother like Christmas had been cancelled. “NO!”

                “All right, no asparagus!” said Ria. “How about spaghetti?”

                “YAY, SPAGHETTI!” The girls cheered.

                Ria walked over to calm the twins down, looking back at Nami. “See?”

                “Those are things you already know they like or don’t like,” said Nami.

                “Fair enough,” said Ria. She wandered over to a bookshelf Mac had set up and pulled one off the shelf. “Okay, this is a book on how to conduct a meeting – probably something the girls haven’t ever seen before. _Now_ watch and learn.” She took a seat on Nami’s desk and opened the book. “Girls! Story time!”

                “Yay!” The twins scrambled over at the promise of story time, pulling themselves up next to their mother (and nearly shoving several thing on Nami’s desk aside in the process). They looked at the pages of the book and immediately turned to their mother with pouts and glares. Now Nami was starting to see the point.

                “There aren’t any pictures,” said Wendy.

                “It’s all words,” said Sundae.

                “This is a story about the proper procedure for conducting business meetings,” said Ria. She cleared her throat. “Chapter One: Organizing the-“

                “BORING!” Wendy proclaimed, jumping off the desk and scurrying over to the bench where she and Sundae had been playing. Her sister was hot on her tail as Ria slid off the desk, closed the book, and replaced it. She referred to where the girls were now playing a clapping game by themselves and turned to Nami with a knowing look.

                “So you’re saying if the twins liked it . . .” she said.

                “. . . do you have any other options?”

                Nami frowned. She really didn’t.

 

                Nami arrived back at their apartment and let herself in – the kitchen was dark, meaning Sanji hadn’t started on dinner yet, but she could hear the shower running in the bathroom, so at least she knew he was home. Not knowing how far into the shower he was, the navigator took a seat on Zoro’s loveseat (which was the piece of furniture closest to the bathroom that wouldn’t need to be moved around) and listened, wondering if he was the type to sing in the shower.

                No such luck. The water was shut off, but she could hear humming. _Hmm. Not entirely unpleasant, but humming is a lot different, isn’t it? I think? I really need to talk him into an audition. Somehow. Ugh, if it was the old Sanji I could just, I don’t know, flash him my bra or something but I don’t know if that’ll work now._

                Sanji stepped out of the shower whistling, a towel wrapped around his waist and damp blonde hair stuck to the sides of his head. He stepped into the main area of their apartment and saw Nami. “Oh, sorry Nami-san, didn’t think you’d be home this early.” He kept a grip on his towel, but continued to his prize – a glass of apple juice he’d left on the counter.

                Although Sanji was still gaining back lost weight, Nami noticed that a little bit of muscle definition had returned – not where he’d been before, but she’d seen him doing stomach crunches recently and he’d talked about starting an early morning jogging routine. That probably explained his slower weight gain: he was thinking ahead, knowing that he needed to get back into fighting shape.

                Literally.

                “See something you like?” Sanji turned his body towards her, flexing for her.

                Nami blushed and turned away – she hadn’t realized she’d been staring.  “Oh, sorry.” She shook her head, trying to compose herself. Sanji chuckled in response – of course he wasn’t offended. “Don’t know what came over me. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you half naked . . . or completely naked . . . before.”

                “Oh, right,” he said. This was true. Although there had been a few . . . incidents . . . while traveling with Luffy, there had been numerous times on That Man’s ship where they’d been exposed to each other naked. The first time she’d seen Sanji had been after he’d gotten the Tank for something and had left his clothing to hang dry on one of the benches while he was crouched shaking in one of the corners. The first time he’d seen her naked . . . actually that had technically be in Arabasta, but there had been one night she’d been tossed into the holding cell naked as a punishment – Sanji had given her his shirt and spent the night in his boxer shorts.

                The apartment had gone quiet with the mention of their shared trauma. It had been over two months since their escape, but they were still being haunted by the memories and nightmares associated with the year they’d lost. It took a few minutes for them to regain their composure and break the silence.

                Sanji sat on the arm of the couch with his juice. “So . . . what’s going on?”

                “Funny you should ask . . .” said Nami. “So, I told you I auditioned for Braeburn’s band, right?”

                “Yeah – you said you didn’t get in,” said Sanji.

                “Well, I volunteered to try and find someone else and Ria came into town hall today.”

                Sanji eyed her suspiciously. “And?”

                “She thinks you should try.”

                The cook nearly choked on the apple juice. “Excuse me?”

                Nami stood up, crossing her arms and walking towards him. “The twins think you can sing well and they’re . . . picky. Really picky. Ria thinks you might have a shot . . . and not just because I’m the only audition they’ve had and we both know that went over . . . poorly. Because if the girls liked you that probably means something. ”

                “Nami-san, I can’t sing,” said Sanji. “The girls were probably just being nice or something.”

                “You spend more time with them then I do – what do they do to things they don’t like?”

                Sanji considered this. “Based on our first trip to the book store and how they treated any book without pictures . . . they toss them aside without a second thought.” He sighed. “But those are things, objects – I’m a person. A book isn’t going to get mad at a couple of toddlers – Mr. Pinova might but the book won’t. The book is nothing but dead trees. And even living trees wouldn’t be capable of getting angry with the girls, either.”

                “Someone had to write the book they’re tossing aside. Someone has to cook the food they don’t like. Sanji-kun, they’ve been singing the songs you taught them for days – if you need to liken what happened to a book, those songs are ‘the book’ and they haven’t tossed them aside yet.” Nami moved past him into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Why are you so convinced you can’t sing anyways?”

                “I was told I sucked pretty flat out by a girl who was studying music,” said Sanji, following her into the kitchen. Nami stuck a straw in her water and turned to him for further explanation. “Obviously she knew way more about it than I did so her opinion meant something. It’s outside of my realm of expertise and that was her whole life – music and singing and stuff.”

                “What was the problem?” asked Nami.

                Sanji looked a little nervous, looking around the kitchen before returning his gaze to her. “She said my voice was all over the place and kept changing pitch really rapidly – said I sounded like a dying cat or something,” he responded. “I got kind of embarrassed and just decided not to sing like that again – I mean, with a group if it’s just messing around is fine but I mean, I couldn’t let Zoro hear me and make fun of me over it.”

                “How far along was she in her studies and what was her focus?” asked Nami.

                “Violin was her focus, but she studied voice on the side. And I think she’d been studying for maybe a year or two?” Sanji seemed to be thinking hard. “I don’t remember, it was a while back – at least six or seven years ago. She was in a lot, favored salmon, and Zeff let her play for the other customers a few times.”

                Something clicked, and Nami did some quick math. “So how old were you?”

                Sanji grabbed an apple from the counter. “. . . fourteen? Maybe fifteen?”

                Nami gestured for him to follow her, leading the two of them into the living room area. _Bingo._ “Sanji-kun, when you were going through puberty, about when did your voice change?” She sat down and looked at him. “I know it’s probably not your favorite point in time to remember, but humor me for a moment.”

                “When I was fourteen . . .” Realization lit up on Sanji’s face. “Oh. I see your point.”

                Nami crossed her legs in the seat. “See?”

                Sanji sat down on the couch. “Just because I was going through puberty and I’m a dumbass for not realizing that sooner doesn’t mean I’m a good singer. Even before that happened, if I sang too much I’d go into a coughing fit . . .” Sanji paused again and pressed a hand to his face. “That was probably from the cigarettes, wasn’t it?”

                “And I know it’s annoying for you sometimes, but I bet your extra sensitive hearing might make you more aware of things like pitch,” said Nami. “Sanji-kun, they don’t have any other options and this means a lot to them. Besides, getting up on stage in front of a crowd is probably good for your confidence, and we both know that’s been lacking as of late.”

                The cook still seemed a little nervous, looking at his lap like he’d find an answer there. Nami put a hand on his shoulder, and Sanji looked up to smile a little. “Well . . . worst that would happen is they’d tell me no, right?” he asked. Nami nodded, but Sanji still seemed nervous. “I still don’t know about this, Nami-san.”

                “I think it would be good for you,” she said. “You told me you’re unhappy with the way you’ve handled the other men in your life so hanging out with Braeburn and his buddies might help you there. If you want to get along better with Zoro and the other Straw Hats, you need to learn how to get along with other guys first.” Nami started to rub his shoulders.

                “What if I am good? Won’t Luffy be mad he’s had someone who could sing since East Blue?”

                “Even if he did get mad, and I really don’t think he would, just make him a pot roast and he’ll remember the reason he wanted you in his crew. And that’s assuming it even got that far, which I doubt it would – this is LUFFY we’re talking about, and besides, everyone is going to be more focused on us being ALIVE than anything else,” she said. Nami rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s a paying job, too – the money would bring you closer to that chef’s knife set you want so bad.”

                “Really!?” Sanji asked excitedly. “And the wooden cutting board? Oh, and the spice grinder!” He lit up. “Wait, we’d need to get pots and soil to grow our own spices first. Oh! Cruets! Or an apple corer – they must have those here, right? A waffle iron! A sandwich press? No, maybe some pie dishes . . . it’s Apple Island, I should be making apple pies. And apple crisp. And apple dumplings. And-”

                Nami laughed. “Anything you want.”

                “Okay. I’ll go to the audition.”

 

                Nami had never heard Sanji sing before – at least, not as a soloist. If he practiced before the audition it wasn’t around her (and it was entirely possible he didn’t, considering it was less than twenty-four hours since she’d convinced him to try out and part of that time had been spent sleeping and working), so the audition was the first time she was actually hearing if the twins were right.

                Sanji’s voice was smooth and even, demonstrating an impressive range and very little difficulty navigating from one end to the other. He kept his eyes closed the whole time, probably to keep his nerves down, and she could see beads of sweat dripping down his brow. He didn’t force any vibration or march around like she had, focused on the task at hand.

                Braeburn, Darryl, and Jimmy were exchanging looks and nods – they were impressed.

                By the time he finished, Sanji looked even more nervous than before. He swallowed, waiting for their evaluation. They started to clap politely, and Sanji smiled a little. “You were just a little, teeny bit pitchy at the start of the second verse, but that was very good for someone who’s never had any training,” said Jimmy.

                “Really?” Sanji asked in disbelief. “That good?”

                Braeburn nodded. “You have a good range of octaves, too – you don’t have the range of, say, an opera singer but definitely one or two more than the average dude. That’s very good – it broadens the number of songs we can try without having to readjust what key we’re playing in.” He got up from the piano, looking to Jimmy and Darryl. The two nodded, and Braeburn held out his hand. “If you want the position, it’s yours.”

                Sanji stared at Braeburn for several moments, eyes wide and his jaw slack. Nami bit her bottom lip – even with her encouragement, she guessed that he didn’t think he’d be good enough to join and was trying to process it all. She covered her lips with her mouth, her stomach tying itself in knots. Was he going to be okay? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. She shuffled from foot to foot.

                The cook finally composed himself and took Braeburn’s hand. “Okay. I accept.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
>  (Original posting)
> 
> Things are going well (writing wise) on my end. I mean hey, you guys might be getting two updates a month or more for a while (*knock on wood*).
> 
>  
> 
> Sanji’s vocal talent isn’t meant to be TEH BEST THING EVAR OMG, but good enough that it attracted the attention of a somewhat desperate band in need of a lead vocalist and is likely around or a little better than whatever you consider the middle of the road (for one of my more musically inclined friends, he firmly believes Phil Collins is at the exact center of all musical talent and I sort of agree with him). His Zoan fruit and the sensitive hearing that comes with it are likely a bigger factor than he realizes.
> 
>  
> 
> Seeing that they spent an entire year on Tesla’s ship, I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to add in narration or flashbacks about other incidents that may have happened in addition to whatever happened in A Force Against Inertia.
> 
>  
> 
> Last but not least, I want to remind everyone this is an “M” rated story and although it’s largely been a K, K+ so far the M content is around the corner. If this bothers you or you’re too young to be reading M content anyways, you have been warned.
> 
>  (2016)
> 
> . . . I wish I was getting that writing done anymore. *sighs* Ah well, such is being an adult. Can't believe I'm going to be 30 next month o.O Yeah yeah I'm fangirl old, I know, shut up T_T
> 
> Part of me wonders if I should add more vignettes from their captivity - it was a whole year there's probably more stuff to mine there. 
> 
> -Dixxy


	15. Turnover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji reminisces about an old fling. The band gets a new name.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Fourteen:  Turnover  


_Four years earlier . . ._

 

                _There had been a girl on the Baratie who kept smiling and winking at him._

_Sanji was a little flustered by her and smiled shyly back. She was pretty and becoming something of a regular. Patty was annoyed because she only seemed to order soda or a small salad and in his mind she was taking up valuable table space that could have gone to a customer who’d either gorge himself on appetizers and desserts or fork over the big dough for something expensive._

_Sanji didn’t care – a customer was a customer . . . and this one made him feel light headed._

_He waited on her a few times and tried to flirt with her – she’d giggle and half ignore him, leaving him confused and wondering if he’d done something wrong. But she kept coming back, pretending that she wasn’t eyeing him. The only thing he’d gathered was that she went by Tanya, but a name was only so much to go on. Sanji was confused and frustrated – did she like him or not?_

_Zeff advised him to ignore her. Sanji advised him to shut the fuck up._

_One day, Tanya got up after paying for her meal but didn’t head to the exit. She waited until her eyes met his, grinned, and gestured for him to follow her down the hall. Intrigued and young and thinking he was in love, Sanji found a way to disappear and followed her, grinning like a fool and thinking he must have finally said or done something right._

 

                Sanji’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, confused by his surroundings. It took him a moment for the dream to evaporate completely, and he found his grip back on reality. He was in his apartment on Apple Island, it was three o’clock in the morning, and Nami was sleeping soundly next to him.  He leaned forward, rubbing his temples. What could have brought that on?

                Although it certainly counted as a dream, it was more like a memory. Those things had actually happened to him – there really had been a Tanya, he and Zeff really had argued about her, and she really had enticed him down the hallway one day during his shift. He tried not to think about her anymore if he could manage it, and had been mostly successful for a while now.

                Sanji slid back down, thinking that he must have seen or heard or smelled something that reminded him of Tanya, even after all this time had passed. He’d read about it somewhere before, this theory that a person’s subconscious picks up on things without the person ever realizing it. Maybe someone was wearing the same perfume she liked or had a similar laugh or something, and only a small part of him had noticed.

                He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Tanya was a source of painful memories for him. Unlike the first girl who’d kissed him or the girl who’d told him he couldn’t sing (which, apparently, wasn’t true), he really thought he was in love with her. Oh, he certainly liked the other two girls well enough, but there was nothing really there. Tanya, he’d thought, meant something.

                That was why she was the one he’d lost his virginity to.

                Sanji swallowed and tried to think about something, anything else to get her off his mind. Even four years later, after he’d had many more partners and lovers . . . no, he needed to think about anything else. But it was the wee hours of the morning and he was fighting the urge to go back to sleep – he needed to distract himself first, or risk going back to that dream.

                He turned his head and saw Nami. None of his stirrings had awoken her – that was good, she needed her rest. She looked so much better – healthier, happier – than she had in a long time. But there was still so far they both needed to go. With Gala’s blessing, they’d recently started getting up extra early (ugh, another reason he needed to hurry up and go back to sleep) to jog around the island – it was time to start thinking about getting back into (literal) fighting shape, but for the moment this was a good start. They’d build up their endurance a little bit at a time, then start actual training again.

                _Which means we should probably start using our Devil Fruit abilities._ Sanji groaned a little. For the most part, no one on the island knew they were ability users and they’d agreed that it should stay that way. By some small miracle their fruits hadn’t acted up since Tesla’s visit, and as far as anyone aside from Gala and Mac knew, they were just normal people who’d ended up in a bad situation and needed a place to lay low for a while. For the moment, they were content to not use their powers.

                But that wouldn’t work forever.

                Without That Man’s medications and restraints, Sanji was starting to notice instincts and urges to use his powers that, with all of the trauma and mess surrounding what they’d been going through before, he was either unaware of or simply wasn’t having. If he needed something outside of his normal reach, he was discovering urges to use his Paramecia skill. Sometimes during their morning jogs, he had the urge to switch forms because his half-and-half form was probably much faster than his regular human body.

                Nami, as he understood it, was undergoing similar feelings. Thankfully she wasn’t succumbing to the violent tendencies that some carnivorous Zoan ability users had (and he’d avoided them as well – didn’t foxes eat meat, too?), but he’d seen her walk through a closed door once or twice. She’d always stop and look horrified, like she’d done something wrong, and then not want to talk for a few minutes. Once, he’d caught her playing catch with herself on the couch, and the ball in questions was a ball of yarn (suggesting that perhaps tigers weren’t so different from their domesticated cousins).

                Furthermore, the plan was to, eventually, rejoin Luffy and the others. It would be wildly unfair of them to avoid using their abilities whenever the crew got in trouble. Their captain had lost two swimmers – there needed to be something to make up for that, be it Sanji using one Marine to beat other Marines with or Nami clawing her way through enemy pirate crews.

                But even with instincts and urges kicking it, it was still a little unsettling to use those powers – any of them – because it was all a constant reminder of what had happened to them. Some days he could still taste the Devil Fruit That Man’s goons had practically forced down his throat, and nothing he did could get the taste off his tongue but time and another distraction. It made him feel cold, and he realized that his powers actually scared him a little.

                It was something they were going to need to learn to move past.

                Nami shifted a little in her sleep, muttering that Luffy and Usopp needed to stop acting like idiots because “that” was not a toy. Sanji had no idea what “that” was but knowing the two she was dreaming about, it really could have been anything. He smiled a little – at least one of them wasn’t having a hard time with dreaming and sleeping.

                Sanji turned onto his side and slowly slid next to her to put an arm around her. Nami didn’t notice in the least, whining to Robin that she was surrounded by morons. He closed his eyes – he wondered how long it would be before she started chiding him for getting into another fight with Zoro or beating Brook for trying to steal panties from the women’s room (again). Those were the kinds of dreams he wished he had.

                The cook yawned and smiled – thoughts of the crew they both missed lulled him back to peaceful slumber.

 

                The following afternoon, once he’d dropped off Wendy and Sundae from an afternoon of babysitting them (which had been an easy one because Mr. Pinova had the next volume of Sapphire Witch adventures in stock), Sanji started the long walk to Braeburn’s forge for his first practice as a member of what was currently just “the band”.

                At first, Sanji assumed they would be using the old name they’d had with the previous singer, but Braeburn had told him that, after some discussion, they thought a new name would be a good way to give them a fresh start and further distance themselves from her. It made Sanji curious – just how bad was this woman, anyways? He had yet to cross paths with Deltana so he really didn’t know.

                The snow was completely gone now that April had arrived and brought spring weather with it. The fields on either side of the dirt path leading to the forge were dotted with wildflowers, and Sanji toyed with picking a bouqet for Nami on his way back – even if there wasn’t anything between them it was still a nice gesture and might bring a little more cheer to their apartment.

                Sanji hadn’t been to the forge since that snowy night he’d gotten lost, but before long he came upon it and meandered his way to the front door of the attached residence. He knocked, waited, and soon heard footsteps headed his way. He stepped back when Braeburn opened the door, the blacksmith looking a little tired but happy to see him.

                “You okay?” asked Sanji.

                “Big order came in this afternoon – I’ve got a wrought iron fence to make. Yippee.”

                Sanji laughed. “Can’t contain your excitement?”

                “For making over fifty yards of fencing in two weeks all by myself?”

                The cook winced. “I take it that’s a lot for that amount of time?”

                Braeburn sighed and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll figure something out, or put my foot down on the timing because yeah, fifty yards in two weeks is brutal. But don’t worry about that – Darryl and Jimmy are setting up in the practice room.” Sanji nodded – he could hear something that sort of sounded like a guitar being played, but the notes seemed a little off. Once he arrived in the practice room, he saw Darryl was fiddling with the knobs at the end of his guitar and Jimmy was gathering the pieces of his drum kit.

                “Okay, let’s get setup finished – Sanji’s here and we should do some warm ups.”

                Darryl nodded and smiled while Jimmy smacked the symbols on his kit.

 

                Practice ended a few hours later, and Sanji’s head was swimming with new information. There was a lot more to this than he thought, and he was feeling a little overwhelmed during the walk back to his apartment. _At least I know Nami-san will be awake when I get back – I might need to talk to her about all this_.

                First, he learned that he was going to need to learn to read sheet music – a thought that had never crossed his mind. Braeburn was giving him an hour’s worth of lessons every night, but promised that for their first several performances they would stick to songs he already knew to make the process a little easier. But where he stood that night? He might as well try to read ponyglyphs.

                Second, even though the band acknowledged that he had some natural talent, he still needed training. Part of it was to make him sound better, but Jimmy warned that trying to hit difficult notes without proper training could actually hurt him. Thankfully, voice training was going easier than music reading – he could match the notes Braeburn played for him easily and he suspected that maybe his hearing was helping him out a lot.

                But the third part . . .

                Jimmy and Darryl demonstrated the point well enough, but the mention of “make up” nearly sent him running. Sanji did NOT wear makeup – if he thought that Zoro would make fun of him for having a bad singing voice, there was no way in hell he’d be able to get away with prancing around on stage in eye shadow and lipstick.  
                Braeburn explained that stage make up served a different purpose than what girls wore to go out on a date. Darryl, wearing no makeup, stood at the far end of the practice room while Jimmy shone some bright lights on him. When asked how well he could make out the details of the guitarist’s face, Sanji admitted he couldn’t – he could tell who it was just fine, but his face was all one color, much lighter than his normal complexion, and he sort of looked like a ghost or a store mannequin.

                They repeated the experiment about fifteen minutes later, this time after Darryl had put on makeup, and Sanji immediately saw the point. For one, he could make out the details of the guitarist’s face much better, and he wasn’t completely washed out by the lights. More importantly, it really didn’t look like he was wearing anything.

                Until Darryl walked over. It was thick, garish, and possibly weighed two pounds. Braeburn said it was okay to laugh, and Sanji couldn’t help but crack a smile. Darryl pulled him into a hug and patted his back. Jimmy offered the idea that they could stick some sunglasses on their newest member to lessen the amount they’d need to apply, and that was something Sanji couldn’t turn down.

                Most of their first practice together, however, was very casual, picking out songs everyone could follow along with and running through them. Braeburn had arranged everyone in an inward-facing circle so they could see each other, and put a microphone stand in front of Sanji so he could practice figuring out what to do with one. That was the only part he was even remotely comfortable with – from his perspective they sounded good and it was actually kind of fun.

                But the books Braeburn leant him on everything he was supposed to learn felt heavy. Not because either volume was thick (quite the opposite – both were rather slim), but because the contents within were a bit intimidating. Maybe he could get Nami to help him study – most of his education had been hands on in the kitchen, but all of Nami’s skills in navigation and cartography had been self-taught from books.

                Sanji reached the edge of town. Things were a little different in the evening, with many of the shops closed but most of the eating establishments still open. He saw groups of friends walking around and laughing together, and a few couples holding hands and chatting quietly so no one else could hear. The street lamps gave everything a golden glow, making the walk much more pleasant.

                A familiar barking sound could be heard not too far off, and Sanji soon saw Cobbler barreling towards him. “Hey, boy!” he called out. The dog barked in excitement, getting up on his hind legs to greet Sanji was several sloppy licks, causing the cook to drop his books. “Hey, get down! Cobbler, knock it off!”

                Someone whistled, and Cobbler whined as he got down and turned to Mac, who was limping over on his cane. “Hello, Sanji – it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around,” the mayor greeted. Cobbler returned to his master’s side while Sanji gathered up the dropped books. “I’m sorry about Cobbler – you know how he gets.”

                “It’s not a problem, Mac,” he said, straightening himself up. “How are you?”

                “I’m fine – Cobbler and I just went to see my mother for dinner after work. And you?”

                “Just coming back from Braeburn’s,” he said. “Nami convinced me to audition for his band.”

                Mac gave him an amused smile. “And you got in?”

                “Yeah – just coming home from my first practice with the band.” He held out the books. “I have some natural talent but no training, so I have some studying to do – I need to learn to read music and control my voice better.” He laughed nervously and decided to change the subject. “How’s your mom doing? Did everything go well?”

                Mac nodded. “Indeed. She’s been out of commission for a couple of months now but should be up and around soon enough.” Sanji nodded – he and Nami had yet to meet the mayor’s mother, but had heard a little about her. They hadn’t met her yet (mostly due to her illness and their recovery preventing any sort of practical meeting), but it was good to hear she was doing well. “She’s interested in meeting the two of you sometime. She knows . . . some of your story and wants to make sure you’re properly fattening up.”

                “Nami’s at her old weight and I’m only about five pounds away now, but if she wants to feed us I won’t say no – maybe we can swap recipes,” Sanji suggested. Mac nodded and Cobbler started to sniff Sanji’s shoes. The cook knelt down to pat the dog more properly and was greeted with a bark and another lick. “Hey!”

                “So when is your big debut performance?” Mac asked with a smile.

                “Not until May – because it’s technically a ‘new’ band the guys think we need time before a big public performance,” said Sanji. “Maybe something small with just a few people we’re close to for practice, but we’re not exactly ready for the Cider Mug yet.” He gave Cobbler one final scratch and straightened himself up. “I’m not even sure the guys want to use the old band name anymore.”

                The mayor rolled his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense – things with their older singer ended poorly, as I’m sure you’ve been made aware by now, and if they want to distance themselves from her, I can’t say I blame them. Deltana has a very lovely voice, but unfortunately she’s got a rather ugly attitude towards life,” said Mac.

                “I heard she puked on you.”

                “And as long as you don’t vomit on me we should remain on good terms,” Mac said with a smile.

                “I’ll do my best,” said Sanji. “Anyways, I should get going. It was nice seeing you, though.” He gave the mayor a friendly hug good bye and promised to try and visit more often. Mac gave him a pat on the back and wished him well on his way, Cobbler trying to follow Sanji back to the apartment. The dog whimpered as the distance between he and Sanji grew – he frowned a bit, but it couldn’t be helped.

 

                Nami examined the books Braeburn had given him. “These are kid’s books,” she said.

                “Wait, seriously? He gave me CHILDREN’S books?” Sanji asked. He hadn’t looked at the books in depth, but soon realized she was right. There were brightly colored pictures of animals and clowns pointing to the different scales and notes, and the cook felt a little offended. “Oh come on! I know I’m a beginner but this is ridiculous!”

                “You read kid’s books all the time.”

                “To CHILDREN,” said Sanji. He sighed. “Braeburn . . . why . . .”

                “Maybe it’s all the island has,” said Nami, closing the book on reading music notation and patting Sanji’s shoulder. The two of them were sitting in the living room over tea and cookies when the discovery had been made. “Remember, trade here is iffy. Or, if there are books for teaching adults music, maybe they aren’t very well written.”

                Sanji grunted. “Maybe.”

                “Or it’s possible that he gave you the kid’s book on purpose,” said Nami. “Ria told me that whenever someone asks for recommendations on books teaching people how to sew or knit or crochet, she tells them to get a kid’s version if possible.” The navigator crossed her legs and smiled. “The adult books don’t have as many diagrams and don’t go into as much detail – kid’s books will have more detailed diagrams and go over every step as simply as possible.”

                “What the hell is crochet?” asked Sanji.

                “It’s like knitting, but with a tool about as long as a spoon with a little hook on the end.”

                Sanji grumbled, but seemed to be warming up to Nami’s logic behind the children’s books. Considering how close Ria and Braeburn were (although the exact nature of their relationship still was unclear), it might make sense that they’d share some philosophies. “So he isn’t doing this because he thinks I’m stupid?”

                “Probably not, no,” said Nami. “And if he does I’ll punch him.”

                “Braeburn’s a lot bigger than you, Nami-san – I think he’s even bigger than Moss head.”

                Nami laughed. “Calm down and do your homework.”

                Sanji stuck his tongue out at her. “Yes, Mommy.”

 

                The second day of practice went better. Sanji could understand the meaning of the lines and spaces on the staff and had a vague understanding of what musical notes indicated. However, it wasn’t enough for him to be able to learn a song without hearing the musical accompaniment. “. . . well, small steps,” said Braeburn.

                “Yes, _baby_ steps,” Sanji said with a hint of sarcasm.

                Braeburn laughed. “Trust me – go with the kiddy books.”

                “The adult books are wastelands of lifeless despair and hopelessness,” said Jimmy.

                Darryl started to sigh in exasperation at Jimmy, but then nodded in agreement.

                “Now, before we get into going over the songs we did yesterday, I thought we might want to have a discussion about the band name,” said Braeburn, shuffling everyone from the practice room to his living room, where the seating was more comfortable. “Now, we COULD keep the old name, ‘Core’, but I think it’ll be better to come up with something new.”

                “The Jimmy Grieves Project!”

                “We turned it down the first time and we’re turning it down again,” Braeburn said shortly.

                The drummer pouted. “Aww. I like that name.”

                “No. Darryl, any suggestions?” The guitarist retreated to the practice room. “Oh, right, paper. Take your time!” Darryl gave Braeburn a thumbs up as he disappeared down the hall. “Jimmy, any suggestions that don’t boost your ego?”  Jimmy continued to pout at Braeburn. “Okay, we’ll give you a minute to get over yourself.”

                “PFFFFTTT!”

                “Very mature. Sanji?”

                Sanji shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

                Jimmy laughed. “And you said my suggestion sucked.”

                “THAT WASN’T A SUGGESTION!”

                Darryl returned with a pad of paper. He showed off his suggestion: BJDS.

                Braeburn, Jimmy, and Sanji all stared blankly before Darryl shrugged and flipped to a clean page.

                “Anybody hungry?” asked Jimmy. He stomach growled immediately after. “I’m hungry.”

                Darryl nodded, rubbing his stomach and looking forlornly towards the kitchen.

                Sanji laughed and stood. “I brought some snacks this time. I made some apple turnovers – they just need to be warmed up and they’ll be ready to eat.” Jimmy and Darryl looked at Sanji in adoration as the cook started to move towards the kitchen. “I even brought some ice cream so we can have it a la mode. Braeburn, you in?”

                Braeburn took on a thoughtful expression. “Turnover.”

                “Hmm?” asked Jimmy. “Yes. Turnovers. Food. Delicious.”

                The blacksmith shook his head, but his expression was lighting up. “No, no, I mean Turnover as a name for the band,” said Braeburn. The other three paused. “Our band changed. We have a new vocalist. And a turnover is a change between hands . . . that could work as a band name. Because we turned over vocals from Deltana to Sanji.”

                “I thought a turnover was a delicious baked good,” said Jimmy.

                Sanji raised an eyebrow at the name. _Does everything on this island need to be an apple reference?_ He sighed and turned, bumping into a tall floor lamp Braeburn owned. He backed away as he watched the lampshade shake and rattle from the movement, grabbing at the base to keep it from knocking over. He made sure it was steady before rejoining his band mates.

                Darryl showed his approval for the name with a drawing of a smiley face.

                Braeburn turned to Jimmy and Sanji. “How do you guys feel?”

                Jimmy sighed. “All right, I suppose it’s almost as good as the Jimmy Grieves Project.”

                Sanji thought about it. “Sure.”

                “Well, anything is better than ‘I Really Don’t Know’.”

                “I SAID THAT WASN’T A SUGGESTION!”

                And with that, the band was renamed Turnover.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original posting - minus some)
> 
> So in high school I used to work in the knitting/yarn department of a local craft store and I took Ria’s philosophy to heart (I believe this was something I picked up from one of the teachers who taught classes there) and pushed the children’s “how to” books over the adult books every time because, well, seriously, compare an adult how-to book with one meant to younger readers. For BASIC skills you’re much, MUCH better off getting a children’s book, then moving onto adult books once you understand the basics.
> 
> And yes I did make a TV Tropes references. You jelly? You jelly.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> So what do I think about this chapter now? It's an okay chapter, not really filler per se but it establishes some good stuff, I guess. Yeah, that's about all I want to talk about for now.
> 
> Dixxy


	16. When I Think About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami realizes she's having a change of heart while getting Red Leg Karate lessons from Sanji. This is further cemented in the shower.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Fifteen: When I Think About You

 

                April came to a close, and May brought with it the start of even warmer weather and blossoms all over the island. From their balcony, Sanji and Nami could see the apple blossoms in the orchards and both were looking forward to visiting that part of the island when the fruit was in season, and they re-routed their morning jog through the orchards to better see them one morning. Nami missed being able to eat her tangerines straight off the tree and although these would be no proper substitute, she found herself longing for the fall.

                But in the meantime, Gala had cleared them for “light physical training”.

                “Light physical training” included their morning jogs and other simple exercises, like stomach crunches and weight training (but only if the weights were under 20 lbs for Nami, 40 lbs for Sanji), and running through some of the lower-intensity moves in Red Leg Karate (of which no contact was allowed – not even with a punching bag).

                Sanji had given Nami the opportunity to learn some of the basics, and at first Nami didn’t understand why. “Well, if we ever want to use our Devil Fruits to defend the rest of the crew, you probably want to know how to fight in your tiger forms,” Sanji had pointed out. “The phasing fruit is going to be amazing defensively, but you’re used to fighting with a weapon, not your body. You need to know how to use your body as a weapon – there’s no reason you couldn’t use your ClimaTact with your Devil Fruit, but there will be advantages to knowing what to do without it.”

                Nami had agreed with his logic, and the two found a fairly isolated clearing not too far from their usual running path, and a few dents and slices in the trees suggested that Ria and Braeburn had utilized the spot at some point in the past. They agreed to train for an hour or two on the weekends (if Sanji’s work schedule permitted it).

                This was their second day of training.

                “Follow my lead, Nami-san,” said Sanji. Nami nodded and tried to spread her feet as far as Sanji had, but soon heard a clucking tongue noise. “Not that far. You’re shorter than me – you need to adjust for your own build. Look at my stance for a second.” Nami moved out of the stance and crossed her arms to watch.

                “Don’t you usually start from a casual standing position?” asked Nami.

                “Not for this stuff – what you’ve thinking of is more advanced and probably not on Gala’s ‘okay’ list yet,” said Sanji. “I’m not in the shape I was back before – I can’t take the abuse I used to take without getting REALLY badly hurt. If Gala realized I was teaching you moves like Party Table he’d be pretty angry and I don’t think we want to piss off the guy trying to make us better.”

                “Okay, okay, so how do I adjust for my height?”

                “Shoulders – see where my feet are compared to my shoulders?” said Sanji. He drew a line in the air from his right shoulder to his right foot, and Nami saw that they lined up. She nodded, and Sanji gave her a brief explanation. “My shoulders are wider than yours, so my stance is going to be a little bigger. But they should still be pointed the same way mine are. Now you try.”

                Nami focused on matching her feet to her shoulders, and Sanji nodded in approval. “Very good. Your left foot needs to be a little bit turned in though – there you go.” Sanji moved beside her and slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Nami frowned, not seeing any pockets on her pants. “Unless you want to fight EXACTLY like me you don’t need to worry about your hands. If you want to learn about upper body defense and offense you’ll want them out, but that’s up to you.”

                “Okay.”

                “All right, now turn your body so you’re facing the direction your feet are pointed in. That means your right leg is your lead leg and the one you’ll be kicking with. The left leg is your support leg, and you need to have a good sense of balance there – it’s the center of your strength, but also a weak point – especially the back of the knee.”

                “Because your leg will bend and you’ll be thrown off balance,” said Nami.

                “Right – I was at a point where I didn’t need to worry about that, but for right now both of us do.” Sanji closed his eyes and took a deep, concentrated breath. “Now, we’re going to lift our lead leg,  bend our knees, and bring our thighs as close to our chest as we can. Keep the sole of your foot facing out with your heel sticking out – that’s what you’d want to strike with. And we’re going to hold that position for ten seconds.”

                “What? Wouldn’t the other guys hit us before ten seconds was up?” asked Nami.

                “This is a balance exercise, not an actual kick,” said Sanji. “Balance is extremely important.”

                Nami pouted, but followed along as Sanji started the move. She lasted about two seconds before he left knee buckled and she started to wobble in place, flailing her arms out to try and keep from falling. She started to fall backwards, but Sanji was behind her, one arm behind her shoulders and the other over her waist. “Sorry!”

                Sanji shook his head and smiled, a genuine grin with a hint of encouragement on his lips. It all had a sort of strange aura to it, likely because of how the sunlight was entering the clearing. His face was covered in shadows, but the sincerity and kindness was still shining through. “It’s okay – everyone loses their balance the first few times.”

                Nami stuck her tongue out at him. “Easy for you to say.”

                Sanji chuckled as he got her back to her feet. “Maybe so, but you need to have good balance for almost any martial art, not just mine – I’m sure Luffy or Chopper or hell, even Robin could tell you that. You probably have it, or at least you had it at some point, but you were probably using your staff or one of the ClimaTacts as a counterweight, so it changed up your center of gravity. But that’s okay, we’ll work on it.”

 

                Two hours later, the pair called it quits. “I suck at this,” Nami said.

                “Nah, you made good progress – remember, I had years and years of practice. Getting as good as I was would take you years and years of practice, too,” said Sanji. He walked over to where they kept a bag of water canteens and snacks and started to rummage through it. “And that’s fine – this is just a starting point for you as you figure out what will work best for you. You might find that you’d better inclined to use your upper body, but I can’t help you there.”

                “Yeah, you can’t,” said Nami. “Can you toss me one of the canteens?”

                Sanji gave tossed one of the canteens to her and started to peel off his shirt, which had collected a fair amount of sweat. Nami was opening the canteens, but couldn’t take her eyes off his back. About a week ago he’d regained the last of his lost weight and more of and more of his old muscle definition was starting to come through. In particular, the groves and lines on his back were rippling with his movements as he got the shirt over his head.

                _Huh._

                “Want a snack, too?” Sanji asked, bending down to go through the back again.

                “Um, no thanks,” said Nami, closing her eyes and throwing back a long drink of water. It was a little warm from sitting in the bag, but still refreshing. After swallowing, gasping, and wiping the corners of her mouth she watched Sanji pull out a clean shirt and pull it on. She frowned a little before taking another sip of water.

                “Did you pack a dry shirt or anything?” Sanji asked.

                “No, I didn’t think of it – I’m going to shower when we get back anyways,” said Nami. She crossed her arms. “Besides, my bra is probably pretty soaked, too, and I’d need to change that as well – and you’re not getting yourself a free show, Sanji-kun.” Sanji grinned, closing up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

                “All right, fair enough. I can keep my back turned, though – just remember that.”

                “Ha,” said Nami, and the two started the walk back to their apartment, walking mostly in silence. But all during the walk, Nami kept going over how their practice had played out. The stances and the kicks and the warm ups were one thing, but the smile on Sanji’s face after he caught her and the way the light caught his hair, or the way his muscles moved when he was changing his shirt . . .

                _What is WRONG with me!?_

 

                Long, hot showers had become Nami’s “substitute” for baths, since bathing in too much water made her feel tired and weak. Showers, though still involving a lot of water, didn’t seem to affect her (at least, not as much) and she discovered that lathering up and simply sitting under the stream was a good alternative to the baths she was conflicted over whether or not she missed.

                Nami grabbed a towel and some pajamas (a matching tank top and shorts) before heading into the bathroom. Sanji was stretched out on the couch with some sheet music (probably the songs they were going to perform for their first few performances) and another study book, only half paying attention as he asked her to let him know when she was done so he could rinse off, too.

                The bathroom in their apartment had the usual sink and toilet, but a feature they hadn’t taken into consideration was the shower stall, and luckily for them, it was perfect for their needs. The shower was just that, a shower, with no bathtub whatsoever. It was still the length of a tub so there was plenty of room to move around while in there (hence Nami’s development of the “substitute bath”), but the lack of a basin to catch the water meant the floor dipped down a little and instead of a shower curtain, the unit was closed off by a fogged glass wall and sliding door.

                Nami stripped out of the day’s clothing, grabbed an extra scented bottle of body wash, and slid open the foggy glass door of their shower stall. Resting the soap on the floor, she turned on the water, waited for it to warm up, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She took her seat on the floor, squirted some of the wash into her open palm, and started to lather up and ponder what was going on.  
                Still no sign of Yasopp returning with Luffy and the others, although Shanks had sent word about a week ago that Ace had returned to Whitebeard. Nami supposed that, well, Luffy’s brother was very loyal to his captain and there was probably only so long he could stay away from his own crew. Other than that, this didn’t tell her anything about the whereabouts or condition of the other Straw Hats.

                Nami started to massage the soap into her shoulders and sighed – they’d been a little tight.

                Sanji’s band was now two weeks away from its debut at the Cider Mug. The old posters advertising Core were now long gone, advertising the debut of the Turnover. There was a little chatter about it around town, some of which Nami picked up at the town hall, mostly curiosity surrounding the new lead singer and, to a lesser extent, how the old lead singer would respond.

                She started to work the back of her neck and froze – although it was fading, she could still feel the bumps and lines of the mark That Man had left on her. Nami slowly took her hand away and focused on her breathing for a few moments, trying to let the memory pass before going back to rubbing her shoulders and focusing on her friend.

                Nami wasn’t quite sure how Sanji was taking everything with the band. Part of it was because he was focusing hard on learning to read music (a skill that, once he got it down, wouldn’t require as much intensive study) between everything else he had going on, but part of it was also to keep his anxiety down – the training was probably good for that, too. He didn’t talk about it much, but when he did talk about the performance Nami could sense he was understandably nervous and she did her best to calm him down.

                Nerves aside, though, Nami thought Sanji was doing pretty well for himself. He was getting along great with his band mates (especially Braeburn – he and the blacksmith were hanging out rather frequently now), he was smiling more, and it seemed like he was starting to get some of his confidence back, even with his mild stage fight taken into consideration.

                She smiled as she started washing her sides. The scent of apple blossoms had filled the bathroom, and Sanji would probably half-whine about it before the scent of his own minty, “manlier” smell took over. Nami giggled – Sanji didn’t exactly dislike the smell of flowers, he just didn’t like to smell like them himself.

                Actually, Nami didn’t mind the scent of his soap, either. It was similar to the stuff he used on the Thousand Sunny (albeit something made exclusively on Apple Island, considering the trade situation). He was the only male on the crew who washed regularly and kept on top of his laundry. It made him a little more pleasant to be around, even with cigarette smoke permeating all of his clothes.

                Of course none of Sanji’s clothing smelled like that anymore. Gala was very straight with Sanji about not picking up the habit again, even though she’d seen him look at a smoker on the island a little forlornly more than once. It had been over a year without a cigarette for him, but apparently some habits died harder than others, and there was probably something about them he missed (although, truth be told, Nami didn’t miss the smell at all – their apartment smelled like apple trees in bloom and that was kind of awesome).

                That probably made sleeping at night more bearable, too – they were usually huddled together, even as the warmer weather started to hit, and there was something comforting about the smell of the minty soap and the laundry detergent they’d adopted, and another scent beyond all of that that was just, well, Sanji. It helped her sleep peacefully and calmed her whenever nightmares struck.

                Nami added another dollop of body wash to her palm and started washing her thighs.

                Really, his presence made her feel much safer. It was comforting to wake up in the morning and see him still sleeping or rummaging about in their room for clothes to wear to work, his hair sticking out in several directions but a very wide awake smile on his face (because Sanji was a morning person who made other morning people look like grumps). She loved coming home to him waving at her from the kitchen with ten things going on at once and letting her know what was on that night’s menu. She was starting to really love the sound of his singing voice, too, even if most of what she heard was just warm-ups and scales, and even if they were screw ups and he swore before starting over.

                He was getting into shape, too, and it really, really was showing. Sanji wasn’t ripped like Zoro or some of the other pirates and Marines they’d encountered, but he was still very toned and had well-defined abs and pecs, and his arms weren’t too bad either (either from all the stirring and chopping he did in the kitchen or all the handstands he did when fighting). They were probably solid to the touch by now, or would be soon, and-

                Nami realized her heart was beating a little faster than usual and she paused – although Gala insisted her heart was fine now, she was still sensitive to what it was doing sometimes and this caught her a little off guard. This was the shower, her substitute bath, this was supposed to be relaxing! _What the hell could have caused that?_

                That was when Nami realized where her hand was.

                And what it had been doing.

                Panicked, Nami was on her feet and shrieking, sending water and soap suds flying in all directions. She heard a banging on the bathroom door followed by it swinging open, and she froze in place. Shit. She’d nearly forgotten Sanji was home. “Nami-san! Nami-san are you all right!? What happened?”

                Sanji was standing outside of the fogged glass door, and Nami reached over to the handle to keep it close. “Sorry! Something took me by surprise, that’s all! I’m okay, I’m fine, just let me rinse off and you can take the shower, okay?” If she thought her heart was beating fast before, now it was about ready to leap out of her chest.

                “Are you sure?” Sanji’s voice had calmed, but he was still worried.

                “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry about.”

                Sanji stood there, his barely visible form still holding concern. “I’m going to boil up some water and leave some chamomile tea out for you. While I’m in there I want you to have a cup, okay?” Nami nodded (even knowing there was no way Sanji could tell from where she stood), and watched as the blurry colors that were him exited the bathroom.

                “You sure you’re okay?” he called from behind the closed door.

                Nami swallowed. “Yeah. I’ll be done in a minute.”

               

                After getting rinsing off, drying off, and then making the fastest sprint to their bedroom Nami thought possible to get dressed as quickly as she could, she found herself sitting over a cup of chamomile tea (which Sanji had prepared just the way she liked it – with a little bit of milk and honey), staring at it while her hands shook.

                Of course he knew how she liked her tea. _Of course._

                It wasn’t like Nami had never done that before – she was a virgin, not an oblivious virgin who knew nothing of the way things worked between a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and woman. She’d experimented a little before, and Nojiko had insisted that it was completely normal and natural to have certain urges and then . . . act on them. She had a small library of “those kinds of novels” hidden in a shoe box in a small trunk surrounded by shoe boxes containing shoes under her bed on the Thousand Sunny, and one she’d acquired since coming to the island at the back of her sock drawer in a box labeled “TAMPONS” to make sure Sanji never found out about it.

                (Actually, Sanji was well aware of the book – she’d left it out one afternoon and he’d read the first five chapters over a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. He gave up after finding the characters to be bland and uninteresting, and Nami assumed she had recovered the literature before her roommate discovered it.)

                This time was different. This wasn’t about the adventures of Sir “I Don’t Buy Shirts That Fit Properly Because I’m Beautiful” and Lady “My Boobs Are Busting Out of This Bodice Like Twin Waterfalls”. Those were pretend. This hadn’t been. This was about Sanji, _Sanji_ , of all people! This was her best friend, her roommate, her . . .

                Nami pressed a hand to her forehead and took a sip of tea. She remembered telling him that he was her most important treasure. She remember how she felt the first time she’d been alone after the night Sanji kissed her. She remembered staring like an idiot at him when she was trying to convince him to try out for Braeburn’s band. And then paired with this afternoon and what had happened in the shower . . .

                _Son of a . . ._

                Nami didn’t think her feelings for Sanji were very platonic anymore.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original)
> 
> Remember when I said M rated material was around the corner?
> 
> I have no idea if the balance exercise was a real one or not, but there’s likely some stuff from high school and college in there. Don’t try it at home, though – I can’t promise the safety of anyone who tries it. 
> 
> The title of the chapter comes from the chorus line of a certain song by a band called the Divinyls. I’m sure at least some of you are familiar with it and know what the subject matter is. Here’s a hint: it has a lot to do with what Nami was doing in the shower.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> Oh THIS chapter. 
> 
> I know there was some clammoring on Fanfiction.Net to get more training (this is the most training I've done so far)   
> and while yeah I do need to address it eventually, PROBABLY the arc after the current arc, I dunno, training montages don't appeal to me too much. I do have some vague ideas I want to play with (and I need to do a lot more with Nami, I feel like Sanji gets most of the action) but yeah, okay, training eventually, sure, why not. 
> 
> Dixxy


	17. Maybe This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji takes some time to contemplate his friendship with Nami and whether or not they should risk trying something more.

 

                 Only one week remained until Turnover had its big debut.

                Sanji found himself with a free afternoon – his shift at the restaurant was over, he wasn’t watching the twins, and there would be no practice with the band. Did he study? No, he needed a break from studying – he’d mastered the F and G clefs and was working his way through the C clefs, and it was all starting to run together in his head. Did he find a place to spar in the woods? No, there was only so much he could do without a partner.

                He opted to take a walk around the island.

                The marketplace near town hall was largely a place where food was sold, excluding seafood – the fish market was near the docks, and truth be told, neither he nor Nami was terribly comfortable going there yet. Walking or running along the beach was one thing – the water had to be at least up to their knees before they started to feel the effects of their Devil Fruits. But every creak they felt or heard when walking on the dock was a reminder than they were directly over deep water, and no matter how sturdy the wood was, it was a little nerve-wracking to take the trip there.

                Sanji walked through the marketplace, looking around and trying to piece together a meal for dinner that night. There was a lot of good produce, and the butcher had produced some fine cuts of beef. He wasn’t feeling particularly inspired by anything he saw, but decided that was okay – he had plenty of time to figure it out, and there were other things he realized he wanted to do that afternoon.

                About a block away from the end of the marketplace was a bazaar that dealt in the trade of items not made on the island and really depended on what the last merchant ships from Shanks’ other islands had brought. Sometimes there was exotic food, mostly dried meats and confectioneries that traveled well or the occasional fresh fruit, but mostly it was a variety of trinkets, tools, clothes, and other items available for whatever the merchant was willing to sell it for.

                Sanji was making the dubious decision to try and find a specific item – a pair of sunglasses.

                Granted, they were well into spring now and summer was just around the corner so that kind of item showing up would make sense, but Sanji was looking for something to wear for the performance next week. After passing by one stall selling hats and another that had procured paintbrushes and paints, there was a vendor selling belts and accessories.

                Sanji spotted his prize immediately, and his eyes lit up. It was just like his favorite pair back on the Thousand Sunny – yellow lenses, thick frames. They looked about the same size and had the Dosoki Panda label written on the left temple. _Perfect_. Now he just needed to be smart about making the purchase so he didn’t get taken for a ride and-

                “See something you like, sir?”

                Sanji internally swore – it was never a good idea to show that much excitement and interest in an object when dealing with these vendors. They could smell desperation and usually charged a much higher rate than what they would have under any other circumstance. Unluckily for the merchant, however, Sanji wasn’t going to get taken this time.

                Sanji’s best friend and roommate was Nami, and she’d taught him a few things and haggling.

                Sanji quickly shifted his to the item closest to the sunglasses – a “gold-plated”, cheaply made pocket watch. “Can you tell me how much this watch is?” he asked as innocently as he could. For Nami, this was usually accompanied by a girlish pout and wide eyes. For Sanji, this meant acting like a country boy visiting the city for the first time. “It’s just so . . . gosh-darn pretty.”

                The vendor smirked. Sanji kept his dopey smile. _Gotcha._

                “Well now, that’s a fine piece right there – very, very valuable, quite an impressive thing to own,” said the vendor. Sanji listened, feigning his best fake expression as the vendor sold him a bullshit story about how it was the preferred brand amongst high-ranking Marines and was made of the finest material available (even though Sanji could tell it was brass covered in a cheap gold knock-off). “For this I can’t let her go for any less than, oh, one hundred thousand berries.”

                Sanji’s eyes widened. _Yikes! This guy’s really trying to hustle me._ “Golly, sir, I don’t think I got that much!” he said. He frowned and looked around the table and started pointing at objects he thought he knew the value of and let the vendor start rattling off prices. Little by little, the prices were going down, and Sanji was even able to trip the vendor up on a leather wallet (he knew it couldn't have been worth more than five thousand berries but the merchant quoted him three thousand - not a bad deal, but it wasn't what he wanted).

                “What about this?” Sanji picked up the sunglasses with his thumb and index finger, looking at them as if he was only half-interested.

                “Two thousand berries – take it or leave it,” the vendor said in annoyance.

                Sanji pretended to think about it before reaching for his wallet. “I guess so.” Once the money was in the vendor’s hand, Sanji relaxed, grinned, and put the glasses on. They were a little wobbly, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed easily enough. “Thank you, sir – these are mighty swell!” He waved cheerfully at the vendor as he walked away.

                _Nami is going to be so proud of me._

 

                After not finding anything else to do with himself for the moment, Sanji decided to leave the town and explore some of the other parts of the island. There wasn’t much to speak of in terms of “civilization” aside from a select few buildings, like Mac’s home and Braeburn’s forge, but the natural scenery was nice to take in as well.

                Sanji reached the edge of the island – the beach. He soon realized it was the spot where they’d originally washed up on the island. Braeburn and Mac had described the spot to them sometime after Shanks’ last visit to the island, but he didn’t think he or Nami had been here since that cold morning Cobbler found them. The lifeboat was long gone (it had probably been used as firewood for the bonfire the night they burned the hospital gowns, he thought), and the sea had erased any trace of their arrival on the island. Sanji shoved his sunglasses up on his forehead, slipped off his shoes and took a seat on the beach, digging his toes into the sand as he watched the sea.

                No ships – just the horizon line dividing the sea from the sky.

                Sanji brought his knees to his chest, folded his arms, and rested his chin against them. By now, rumors that he and Nami had died must have spread pretty far. He wondered if those rumors had reached the other Straw Hats, or any of their other friends around the Grand Line or even back in the East Blue. _I’m sorry, Luffy, everyone – I don’t know how else we could have done it._  

                It wasn’t that life on Apple Island was terrible – it was really good. They had friends and jobs and it was nice not having to worry about Marines or bounty hunters being out for their necks and the prices on their heads to say nothing of where they'd escaped from. But it wasn’t the same as traveling the seas and going on adventures with Luffy and the others and chasing their dreams. Being away from the sea and the dangers upon it was what they _needed_ , but it wasn’t necessarily what they _wanted_.

                Apple Island couldn’t give them a map of the world or the location of All Blue.

                Sanji dragged his finger through the sand. At least he still had Nami. She was all he had left of his old life, even if so much about both of them had changed. They’d gotten so damn comfortable around each other – it was nothing for one of them to be in the shower and the other running into the bathroom, announcing they needed to pee and that they’d be out in just a second (which Nami had done to him that very morning). They usually brushed their teeth huddled over the bathroom sink together, and that was to say nothing of their sleeping arrangement.

                He started to draw a picture of her in the sand – for all his talents in the kitchen or with a microphone (something he was still trying to wrap his head around), he couldn’t draw very well. It was a crude drawing of Nami, smiling at him with big brown rocks for eyes and a pebble crafted smile. He drew her hair the way it was before they’d been kidnapped (although Nami’s hair was getting close to dipping below her ears – as it stood he finally had enough to style it the way he had before, though he was considering changing where he parted his hair), lingering on that one piece that hung just a little longer than the rest.

                Sanji sighed and flopped back onto the sand. He craned his neck to look at the picture he’d created. He laughed a little – it really was pretty bad. Nami was better at two-dimensional art than he was (though not as good as Usopp – her drawings were largely technical in their execution, the sniper was better with conveying emotions and mood) but he still found himself amused by the effort. He sat up and looked at it again, running his hand along the line of her cheek.

                It made him feel happy.

 

                After another trip to the marketplace for some food shopping, Sanji got home about an hour before Nami was set to get out of work and started on dinner. He hadn’t done much of anything special since they’d arrived on the island, and somewhere between the beach and the town the desire to go all out had struck him. The only thing he couldn’t get fancy with was the drinks, because Gala was still cautious about letting them have alcohol - true he could probably substitute in club soda or juice for a lot of their favorites, but it just wasn't the same. Sanji settled on sparkling apple juice instead – it would at least look like a sparkling white wine.

                While preparing the meal, he remembered fantasizing about making dinner for the two of them when he first joined the crew. Sanji had always figured it was supposed to be some kind of romantic setting, with candles and flowers and trying to coax her into bed with sweet words. Dinner with just the two of them had become the status quo, and going to bed was just a matter of getting sleep with nothing more than some platonic cuddling to help them relax.

                This really was the first time he’d tried to show off to her when it was just the two of them.

                Not that he’d been lacking in previous meals – not at all. But it was a lot of simpler recipes with simple foods that, though delicious and nutritious for their dietary needs, weren’t all that exciting. Tonight he was making duck with orange sauce (a ship had come in a few days ago with oranges and he’d managed to grab a few before they sold out), sauteed vegetables, wild rice, and chocolate mousse for dessert. 

                Sanji frowned at the duck in the oven – the smell of the oranges made him sad he couldn’t give her tangerines. So far, none of the ships that had come to Apple Island from Shanks’ other islands had brought any of her favorite citrus, and neither of them dared to get close to the docks when such a ship was in town to request them out of fear not just for the ocean below, but that they might be recognized. Just because newspapers and wanted posters were a rarity on Apple Island didn’t mean they weren’t commonplace on other islands, and who knew what the captains and crews of those ships picked up. Getting recognized could spell disaster for them and blow their whole plan. The oranges he’d found in the marketplace would have to do.

                He wondered why he’d gotten the sudden urge to do this. It wasn’t a special anniversary he could think of, and there wasn’t anything big that had happened for either of them in a while (although Sanji knew that the performance at the Cider Mug was slowly starting to creep up on him). He stared at the sauté for an answer.

                The carrots were the color of her hair.

                Sanji paused. Was he starting to get feelings for her again?

                Was that even a good idea? Sanji flipped the vegetables and tried to think it through carefully. On the one hand, he and Nami had a very strong friendship, and throwing in “something more” could destroy the balance they had – that was something neither of them could afford to risk (their sleep alone depended on it, never mind the rest of their emotional well-beings). He wasn’t even sure if Nami would be on board with the idea of trying to have that kind of relationship, especially with how things used to be between them.

                On the other hand, the way things were was different. They had a strong friendship, something he hadn’t had with any of the ladies he’d been with before. Most of them had been one night stands, and those who weren’t he’d only known a day or two before starting very frenzied and passionate but pitifully short relationships. It was never very long before things fell apart, and there wasn’t a lot of talking or understanding – just a lot of sex and making out.

                If he and Nami were to try the whole dating thing, they already knew how to talk to each other. They confided almost everything to one another and she was, far and away, the person he was closest to (although he wished it was for different reasons - he would have _never_ wanted something like what happened to be the cause of his getting closer to her). There was probably things about himself that Nami knew that he didn't. For crying out loud they were sharing a bed, even if it was for a practical, not-sexy times purpose, and, well, it sort of eliminated the possibility of either of them dating anyone else (not that this was a reason to start down that path – they were still working on the presumption that this was a temporary problem and, someday, they would be able to fall asleep apart).

                Speaking of their sleeping arrangement, that would have a whole different context if they were dating. Of course he wouldn’t pressure her into anything more intimate than what they already had (really, cuddling could be nice, too), but there was a lot to think about there, too. Nami was a virgin, he was experienced. Was she the wait for marriage type? Would they need to have a talk about condoms and birth control, even if they were both sterile and clean? How fast were they supposed to move, anyways? They were already so close, did that mean things were going to move a lot more quickly considering they had basically already done the "getting to know each other" part?

                Sanji took a deep breath. He was getting himself WAY too far ahead. He hadn’t even asked her out yet – if they did date and, as a result, have sex, that probably wouldn’t happen right away. Go out to dinner a few times, go do some dancing or something, and when the time was right then they’d make love and it would be something special for both of them.

                But that wasn’t in the cards yet – one step at a time. He hadn’t even asked her out yet!

                Sanji’s mind continued to wander. What about the other Straw Hats? He didn’t think Luffy would give a rat’s ass if two of his crewmembers had a romance, but if they could build something serious, would that cause a problem when they came back to the crew? Would the others treat them differently? Would they have to keep it a secret? What about Zeff and Nojiko – Zeff didn’t have a very high opinion of “that ship stealing hussy” and he had a feeling Nojiko wasn’t very impressed with him, either. Of course with the way things were going it was going to be a REALLY long time before they saw anyone from back home in the East Blue, but he had a feeling that might not go over so well right away.

                Sanji reached behind his head to scratch and felt his pinky brush up against the scars on the back of his neck, and he paused. In the colder weather, he’d been covering it up with turtlenecks. In the warmer weather, he’d been wearing light but unisex or otherwise masculine scarves around his neck. At the Cider Mug, it was all bandanas to keep himself and everyone else around him safe. To cook tonight, he’d taken the one he’d been wearing off, so nothing was hiding it from the world.

                In an instant, he stopped caring what other people thought about what he did or didn’t do with his life. For an entire year, That Man had controlled everything that happened to his body and her body. He’d forced them to eat Devil Fruits, and made them freaks among freaks. He’d run experiments on them, hurt them, for months and months. Pills. Injections. Shock therapy. It had made them addicts, it had taken away their names and made them shivering husks of their former selves.

                Now that they had gotten away from him and gotten themselves on track with recovery, what they did with their bodies was all up to them – even Gala could only give them suggestions on what to do and not do. Nothing was stopping Sanji from buying a carton of cigarettes and smoking the whole thing in an afternoon, or drinking a whole bottle of wine in one sitting. He’d gotten control of his life back when they’d gotten away from that terrible monster of a man.

                Sanji took a deep breath, leaning against the kitchen counter. This was HIS life. HIS body. If he and Nami decided to have a relationship, there was no one who was going to tell them “no”. He didn’t care what anyone else told them they could or couldn’t do – he was tired of being controlled. Whatever they decided was THEIR choice and THEIRS alone.

                Provided, of course, that Nami wanted the same thing. There was no guarantee she felt the same way he was feeling now. She could have been perfectly content with their friendship the way it stood – as a close friendship, nothing more. And it was a very close friendship. He’d never had a friend like her that he could just talk to and share things with. It wasn’t like anything he had with anyone else – not the other chefs on the Baraite, not Zeff, not the other Straw Hats, not the other guys in Turnover.

                She was . . . different.

                _Maybe this means . . . we could . . ._

                Sanji heard the door to their apartment open – Nami was home.

                “Hi Sanji-kun,” she greeted. “Smells great!”

                Sanji smiled. _I’ll worry about it later._ “Thanks!”

                As Nami walked into the kitchen and started poking around to see what he was up to (and compliment him on his new sunglasses – and this was BEFORE he told her about how he’d acquired them), Sanji wondered if he should say anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it, or even if it was the right time to say anything. For the moment, he was content to tell her what he was making, and saying that it was just for the hell of it.

 

                Over the next several days, Sanji tried to find the right moment, the right time, to just find the courage to say something to her. But Nami seemed to be a little fidgety about something (she’d been very fidgety since that bizarre incident in the shower, actually) and it just never seemed like a good idea to broach the subject.

                Sanji always found a reason to put it off. She was too distracted by something. She looked tired. HE was tired (although that was very true on days he was watching Wendy and Sundae – those two probably had the energy to power all of Water 7 for a week). They had a visitor. He had to study. She was wrapped up with something at work. They had to focus on their training (Nami was getting better with her balance and stances but her form for actual kicking wasn't quite there yet).

                Now it was the night before Turnover’s big debut, and Braeburn had strongly suggested he put himself on voice rest. Nami told him she’d make dinner than night and prepared something specifically geared towards soothing throats and voice boxes. Sanji was touched – that was so sweet of her, and another reason that he had to find a way to just talk to her.

                But of course tonight was the one night he actually couldn’t.

                Nami fell asleep before he did, and Sanji was content to lie there and hold her. It was comforting to know she was there, and it eased a lot of his worries about the following day. Just like she was here now, she was going to be somewhere in the audience at the restaurant tomorrow, cheering him on, and he knew no matter what happened it was somehow all going to be okay. For good or bad, she was still going to be there for him, either to congratulate him on a job well done or to cheer him up if things went badly. 

                Maybe tomorrow was the day then. Maybe after the stress of that first performance was over and done with, no matter how good or bad it went, maybe he’d find the courage to ask her if she wanted to grab a cup of coffee afterwards. Maybe she’d understand he was asking her out on a date and wanted to see if they could try being more than just friends.

                Maybe if he was lucky, she’d say yes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original)
> 
> Well, what have we got here? I’m pretty sure “Maybe This Time” is from a song lyric, too (wasn’t it in the first season of Glee?) although Sanji’s realization is a bit tamer than Nami’s was. A lot.
> 
> Next chapter starts the wrapping up of this arc, but things may not go the way you guys might expect.  Stay tuned.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> So after looking back at some of the older chapters . . . yikes some of the typos are BAD. So, starting with this chapter, you guys are going to get a "polished" version here on AO3 (with the FF.Net version maybe getting a facelift once we're all caught up). Most of it will be cosmetic, though I'll note any major changes - for example I do want to go back and change one of the scenes in "Another Visitor" because in retrospect it doesn't make any sense and I believe I've mentioned that "Sought" is going to have some changes as well, some of them timeline related and some of them more character related, and I'll of course make a note of it when that happens. 
> 
> Dixxy


	18. Debut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Turnover's big debut arrives. Nami encounters Deltana during lunch and wonders if Braeburn's former band mate is going to cause any trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Memories" was originally written in Japanese by Maki Otsuki. English lyrics written by Caitlyn Glass.

 

                 It was the day of Turnover’s big debut performance, and Nami hated leaving Sanji by himself.

                Normally, Sanji cooked most of their meals – not out of laziness on Nami’s part, but simply because he enjoyed cooking and he was the better of the two (obviously). But she'd made them dinner last night to give him a chance to rest and this morning she had made them scrambled eggs with toast because she wasn’t entirely sure he'd slept the night before. Sanji was a bit of a twitchy mess, nearly hyperventilating during the morning meal. 

                Thankfully Haralson had given Sanji the day off, probably sensing that his part timer was nervous about the performance and was going to need some time to sort things out. It was also probably helpful considering Sanji was on voice rest and, if he was speaking at all, he wasn’t saying much. Nami wished she could tell him to lie down and take a nap, but between their sleep problems and how wound up Sanji was, she didn’t think that would work.

                So she came up with another plan. She led Sanji (now paranoid that he was suddenly going to lose his voice right before the show started . . . which was actually an improvement over being paranoid he was going to forget to put on pants) to Zoro's loveseat, sat him down, and plopped down their book of Imaki Imahara poems. Sanji looked at her with huge, worried eyes and Nami put her hands on his shoulders.

                “Sanji-kun, I need you to calm down and relax. Listen to me, okay? I want you to take a deep breath and start reading,” said Nami. Sanji nodded, swallowing. “Front cover to back cover. Just focus on the poems, relax, and don’t stop reading until you finish the whole collection. I’ll call our Den Den Mushi around two just to make sure you don’t get too lost in the book and you have time to get ready and down to the Cider Mug, okay?”

                Sanji nodded, albeit a bit quicker than he usually would have. Nami sighed – she wished she could stay, but she was already running late. She settled for giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I won’t see you before you need to head to the Cider Mug, but I’ll be in the audience cheering you on, okay?” She gave him a hug, which after a moment’s hesitation he returned. “You’re going to do great. I know it.”

                “Thanks, Nami-san,” he said. He opened the book in his lap. “Have a good day.”

                Nami smiled as she started to head for the door. “You too – and no panic attacks!”

 

                Today, Nami was only able to take a half-hour lunch – otherwise she would have stopped back at their apartment to check on Sanji to make sure he wasn’t holed up somewhere in the fetal position. Worse, she hadn’t packed a lunch that morning, and needed to find a quick meal – the marketplace was only a block away from town hall, and there was a takoyaki vendor close to the edge.

                Nami moved as quickly as she could – she was hungry, and even though he was halfway across the island Sanji’s nerves were starting to rub off on her. She took a deep breath and tried to focus. _Calm down, go get takoyaki, get back to work. Calm down, go get takoyaki, get back to work. Calm down, go get takoya-_

                CRASH!

                “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

                Nami had been too focused on calming down and unceremoniously crashed into someone, knocking them both to the ground. Embarrassed and tangled together with the other person, she immediately started in on an apology. “I’m sorry, I’ve got my mind on some other things,” Nami, getting to her feet and brushing herself off – she had skinned her knee and would have to wait until she got back to town hall to take care of it. She extended her hand to the other person. “Do you need help getting up?”

                The other person was a brunette with long, thick, wavy hair and sharp green eyes. She was wearing a purple dress with a short skirt (and although Nami didn’t mean to look, lacy pink underwear). She was wearing purple heels, a gold-colored ball chain necklace, and a matching bracelet. She extended her hand for Nami to take it. “Thanks,” she said dryly as she struggled to her feet.

                “I’m really sorry – my roommate’s a little stressed out this morning and I think he’s starting to rub off on me,” Nami said, trying to lighten the situation. The other woman shrugged and started dusting herself off as well. Although Nami didn’t see any signs that the other woman was injured, she couldn’t be sure. She was wearing heels, after all, and those could cause some nasty sprains. “Are you all right?”

                “I’m fine – I’ve got other things on my mind today, too,” she said. She looked Nami up and down and crossed her arms, a coldly curious look on her face. “I don’t think I know you – are you one of the recent newcomers?” Nami nodded - the island was big enough that they definitely didn't know everyone, though she got the feeling most of the island was at least aware there were two newcomers among them. “We don't get a lot of folks like us on the island anymore. How long have you been on Shanks’ little hideaway?”

                “I’ve only been here since February,” said Nami. She held out her hand. “My name is Nami.”

                The other woman gave her a smug grin. “Deltana.”

                Nami’s eyes widened. _So this is the woman Sanji’s replacing._ She could understand why Braeburn, Jimmy, and Darryl had originally gone with her. Deltana was pretty, sure, but she carried herself with a lot of confidence that probably translated really well on stage. Still, as they stood there shaking hands, Nami couldn’t help but notice the smell of bourbon on the other woman’s breath. Maybe Sanji’s stress rubbing off on her wasn’t the culprit behind this encounter after all.

                “So you’ve heard of me,” said Deltana. She folded her arms and gave her a condescending look. “So, you’re the mayor’s new errand girl. Cute. Going on a coffee run, are we? You’re going to want to be more careful on the way back – you probably don’t want to get a coffee stain on that shirt you borrowed from your grandmother.”

                Nami forced a smile back. _She’s kind of a bitch._ “I’m on my lunch break, actually.”

                “Don’t look at me like that – I know you’re close with the other newcomer, and I know he’s the one Braeburn and his little band of idiots used to replace me. Didn’t know the two of you were living together, though, that’s mighty interesting,” said Deltana, giving her a condescending nod. “Doesn’t matter – once I’m allowed to start performing again I’ll crush them all.”

                Nami could feel her blood starting to boil. “We’ll see about that – you probably haven’t heard Sanji-kun’s voice yet, but he’s really good, so shut up before you decide who’s going to crush who!” she shot back. Deltana’s eyebrows raised at Nami’s comeback, and for a moment she felt herself back off. She’d probably gone too far, but this other woman had made her so mad so quickly. “Look. I know you’re probably mad you’re out of the band, but look on the bright side – if Haralson is letting you perform again, you’ve probably got the stage all to yourself. It’s a win-win for everyone, really. Just let them do their thing and I’m sure they’ll let you do yours.”

                “Hmm,” she said. “Whatever. Just watch where you’re going next time, okay?” Deltana gave Nami a pat on the head and blew a kiss as she walked away, leaving Nami feeling more than a little miffed with the encounter. But when her stomach started to rumble a little bit, she remembered that she didn’t have time for that and needed to get lunch before she was late getting back to work.

 

                Night had fallen over Apple Island, and Turnover was set to take the stage in thirty minutes.

                The backstage area, or at least what serviced as one, was only about the size of the break room and just big enough for the four of them to move around comfortably. They’d gotten there about two hours ago for last minute preparation, including giving Sanji his first formal stage makeup lessons with the giant mirror hanging on the wall.

                Jimmy and Darren were checking the instruments for weak strings and skins, and Sanji was looking out at the floor of the Cider Mug in slight horror. It was dimly lit – not as dim as it would be once they started to perform, but it was an eerie sea of heads and eyes and wordless sounding murmurs that was making his skin crawl. Worse, he didn’t see Nami anywhere, but there was still plenty of time before they were supposed to start and plenty of open seats.

                Sanji knew it was just the townspeople making conversation amongst themselves before the show started and most of it was probably just small talk about how their days had gone – at least, that’s what he hoped – but he wondered how many were talking about him. It would have made sense, after all – he was the big change with the band and the deciding factor over whether or not Turnover was going to be a success.

                If this had been more than a year earlier and they were Marines or something, this would have been easy – take ‘em out, run away, and live to pirate another day. No, he had to entertain these people . . . _without the use of food_. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all – for crying out loud the ones who “discovered” him for Braeburn were a pair of toddlers! _Toddlers!_

                Sanji felt Braeburn’s hands on his shoulders. “You okay?” he asked.

                “I think my stomach ran off for parts unknown,” he replied.

                Braeburn chuckled. “A little bit of nerves is okay. Just do it like we did back at my place and don’t worry about the audience; they are the only difference between our practice studio and here. That’s it.” He spun Sanji around, hugged him, and gave him a pat on the back. “You’re going to do awesome.”

                “You sure?”

                “Positive. Think we have time for one last warm up before Darryl does a sound check?”

                Sanji nodded. “Yeah. Every little bit helps, right?”  
  
                “And it might get you calmed down a bit,” said Braeburn. He encouraged Sanji with a few waves of his hand to focus on his breathing. “We’ll pick something nice and easy, and I want you to focus as hard as you can on that – every little detail of the exercise. Okay?” Sanji nodded, and they started on the warm up.

 

                Nami arrived at the Cider Mug alone, but excited. She’d rushed home from town hall to get cleaned up and changed, trying to find the right outfit to wear. She settled on a white sundress with a flared skirt, then added a little color with a blue and orange silk scarf around her neck and orange strappy heels. After looking over her wigs, and then looking at herself in the mirror, she decided to go without – her hair was almost as long as it had been when she was taken away from the other Straw Hats, and the scarf covered the scar on the back of her neck well enough. 

                It was a big night for her roommate, but this might be a big night for her, too. She'd decided that after weeks of waffling back and fourth on the subject, she was going to make her confession. After the performance, she was supposed to meet Sanji and the other members of the band by the hostess stand.  Once the two of them were alone, Nami was going to say something to Sanji and admit her feelings had started to change. 

                Now, here she was. She just needed to find a seat. Nami spied a small, empty table near the front and quickly shuffled towards it before anyone else could take it. She took her seat victoriously and looked around to see if she could spot anyone she knew. Ria, she knew, couldn’t make it – she wasn’t able to get a baby-sitter and had to watch the twins. Mac had started to show signs of not feeling well towards the end of the day and had gone home early, though he did say he hoped all went well. She saw Dr. Gala in the very back, having a few drinks with some of the other people in town.

                Nami then saw someone that surprised her – Deltana.

                Careful not to let the other woman know she was being watched, Nami opened her menu but kept an eye on the other woman. She must have been there to check out her competition, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to try and heckle Sanji and the rest of Turnover off stage. Nami closed her eyes and hoped that wouldn’t be the case – that was the last thing her friend needed.

                One of the waiters came over and asked her what she wanted – Nami ordered a virgin strawberry daiquiri (“So . . . strawberries and ice in a blender?” “If you please.”) and hoped that the former lead singer of Core didn’t try to bring trouble for Turnover. She tried to keep an eye on her, but when the lights over the audience went out she couldn’t see the other woman anymore.

 

                Once the band was on stage, there was a brief round of applause, some wolf-whistling near the kitchen, and the lights were dimmed – except for those on stage, those were impossibly bright. Everyone could see them. Everyone could see _him_. Sanji stood in front of the microphone, unsure of what to do – Darryl hadn’t started playing any opening notes, so what was he-

                Braeburn had slid next to him and taken the microphone from the stand. “Gooooood evening ladies and gentlemen!” he bellowed, eliciting more excitement from the small crowd. Sanji stepped away, a little relieved that Braeburn had the reigns for the moment. “Thank you so much for coming out for us tonight, we love you all –“

                _No we don’t, I don’t even know half of these people!_

“- as we debut our brand new band, Turnover!” More applause and hooting from the crowd. “Let me introduce you really quickly to our lineup. Now of course the handsome bastard on bass tonight is me, and you can call me Marcus Braeburn.” Mild laughter from the crowd at the mediocre joke. Braeburn turned his body to gesture to the drum kit. “On drums we have the over talented and unappreciated Jimmy Grieves!” Jimmy performed a short, show-offish fill that was well received. “On guitar we have Darryl Gravenstein.” The crowd got a little louder as Darryl played a progression. “And last but certainly not least let’s give a warm welcome to our new lead vocalist, Sanji . . eh . . . uh . . . _Sanji_!”

                Sanji forced a smile as the crowd got even louder than before. _That’s all for me?_ He waved a little before Braeburn put the microphone in his hand, announced their first song ("Memories"), and went to pick up his bass. Little by little the crowd quieted down, and Darryl started to play the opening notes of their first song.

                Sanji was terrified, and then he saw a familiar face smiling at him from the crowd.

                It was Nami. She gave him a thumbs up and mouthed at him to break a leg.

                And suddenly he wasn’t scared anymore.

 

                “ _As a kid, I never stopped/_

_Searching for a great treasure/_

_I had a map in my mind /_

_That I knew would lead me/_

_I had to find my way to that place/_

_Before someone could beat me/_

_The promised land was in my grasp/_

_And I wouldn’t let go”_

                Braeburn and Jimmy came in on background vocals as the chorus began.

               

                “ _Day after day . . ./_

_No matter what may come there's nothing that can take away from me/”_

 

                As they sang, Sanji couldn’t take his eyes off Nami. She was smiling and quietly clapping for him, and in that instant they were the only ones in that restaurant. This was a song from him to her, and he realized that’s why he’d picked it. Of course he was going to pick a song for Nami – what other kind of song could he pick? Even the other song choices . . . it was all her.

 

                “ _My only dream . . ./  
                I won't stop chasing it until it comes true/”_

                Maybe there could be something there for the two of them after all . . .                         

 

                “ _But if the world ever changes/_

_I'll call out your name/_

_We could return to the time/_

_When everything's the same/”_

_As long as I'm with you_

_My memories won't fade_

_Waiting for that one true dream..._ ”

 

                Sanji had barely noticed that they’d come to the end of the song as the last note left his lips and the final strum of Darryl’s guitar faded away. He held his breath for a moment, and was pleasantly surprised when the room erupted into cheers and applause. His eyes brightened and his mouth widened into a grin as he bowed.

                Nami looked like maybe she was the happiest of them all.

                _Maybe tonight I should talk to her and see if maybe . . . maybe . . ._

                The applaused had died down, and Sanji realized he needed to say something. “Thank you, thank you!” he said into the microphone. He looked briefly back at Braeburn, who gave him a thumbs up. Sanji turned back to the audience, beaming. “For our next song, how about something everyone can get up and dance to?”

                No one in the audience disagreed with the suggestion.

 

                _All right, Sanji-kun!_  Nami was happy and relieved all at the same time. Sanji had done it. As they headed into the second song (which was indeed something with a faster pace and Nami noticed a lot of people around her were getting up to dance), she continued to watch Sanji. She could tell during their first song he was a little bit nervous, but having the positive reaction to it had set him at ease and he was much more comfortable now.

                Nami propped her chin on her elbow and grinned. It was turning out to be a really good night. Sanji was doing great on stage, the others in the band looked like they were having a blast, and best of all, Deltana was apparently behaving herself because not an unkind peep could be heard from the audience.

                Everything was going to be just fine.

 

                Once the last song in their set was completed, the band took a bow and was met by more enthusiasm from the audience as the lights came back on. People began to disperse or order more drinks as Paula appeared from seemingly nowhere to replace the band with a vinyl record player. She gave Sanji and a wink and a nod as the members of Turnover headed backstage.

                “That was amazing!” said Jimmy, hooting as he hugged Sanji from the side. Darryl came in from the other side, absolutely glowing and patting him on the back. “That was great! You did a really good job out there! We have a band and our lead vocalist isn’t an awful, horrible person – and they can sing, too!”

                Braeburn was beaming. “I’m so proud of you right now, Sanji. That was-“

                “Well, well, well, I wasn’t sure at first, but it _is_ you after all, _Speedy_.”

                For a moment, everything around Sanji started to slow down. _I know that voice . . . but it can’t be._ He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, disbelieving what he was hearing as he turned and saw the purple-clad woman standing before him. He knew that hair, that face . . . it really was her. Sanji felt his heart fall into his stomach.

                “. . . _Tanya_?!”

                Tanya grinned wickedly as she advanced towards him, her arms crossed and a hint of malice in her eye. “Actually, I’m done with that nickname. It was a cute little shorthand for my real first name, but that’s all in the past now. Four years in the past, actually – can you really believe it’s been that long? But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going by ‘Tanya’ anymore. It’s ‘Deltana’ now.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original)
> 
> Originally I wanted to use One Piece openings and closings, then decided to go with original lyrics instead. So if you liked the lyrics, yay, if not. . . I’m not a lyricist.
> 
> Now, we need to talk about more serious matters. Both Chapters 15 and 16 were posted from hospital beds. Back in August, I started having this cough that just did not want to go away. On January 25, my mom and I went to the doctor (fourth visit) and after running tests there and at a nearby hospital, they discovered a mass. Since then, there have been two biopsies. The long and short of it is I have cancer.
> 
> The kind of cancer I have is Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, which is one of the more treatable, curable forms of cancer out there, even for those with more advanced stages (and I’m only stage two). I also have youth on my side (I’m only 26) and I’ve been developing a strong support network since this whole mess started. If you guys want to keep me in your thoughts and prayers, please do, I’m not going to turn down any support anyone wants to throw my way.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> Okay so first things first - I'm currently in remission (remission last five years and then you get to say you're cured if it doesn't come back). I have about two more years to go before I reach that point.
> 
> Ultimately I responded very well to treatment. There are some things I will have to deal with for the rest of my life (sometimes the area where I got radiation treatment will just randomly start having odd sensations) and I need to start getting mammograms about five years earlier than other women (so I start at 35 instead of 40), and I'm going to have follow-ups for a long while to come. 
> 
> Secondly . . . yeah I decided to go back to plan A and used the first One Piece opening, "Memories". That song in particular feels like it just fits this story like a glove.
> 
> Buuuuuuut just in case anyone wants to see what I originally came up with, here's "Chasin' Dreams".
> 
> Whenever it rains  
> And I look in your eyes  
> I see the starlight  
> It lights up the skies  
> Wherever I go  
> And whatever I’ll be  
> You’re like my lighthouse  
> You’re guiding me
> 
> I want to see what the world has waiting for us  
> Can’t you see?  
> If we don’t give up it’ll all come right down  
> To you and me  
> But for now  
> Let’s not stop  
> Chasing dreams
> 
> If we start at the sun  
> Slow it down by the sea  
> We can go where we want  
> Straight on to paradise  
> You’re never alone  
> I’ll take your hand  
> And we’ll get there someday  
> Our promised land
> 
> I want to see what the world has waiting for us  
> Can’t you see?  
> If we don’t give up it’ll all come right down  
> To you and me  
> But for now  
> Let’s not stop  
> Chasing dreams
> 
> -Dixxy


	19. Deltana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji recalls his previous encounter with Deltana and begins to question everything he thought he knew about himself.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Eighteen: Deltana

_Four years earlier . . ._

 

                _Sanji followed Tanya down the hall towards the spare bathrooms – they were mostly used as backups for when the restaurant was really crowded, or if there was a problem with the normal ones. Tonight had a steady but normal flow of customers and the regular restrooms were running perfectly, so the extra restrooms and the surrounding hallways were completely deserted. Tanya was leaning against the door to the spare woman’s room, her arms crossed and a playful look on her face. “I’ve been eyeing you for weeks, cutie,” she said._

_The young cook felt his heart melt. She DID like him. “I’ve noticed,” he said, trying to be smooth._

_The young women looked both ways down the hall – Sanji followed suit, not sure what she was looking for. Once it appeared she was satisfied, Tanya grabbed his wrist and put a finger to her lips. She was smiling mischievously, but the cook was oblivious to her intentions. “Come on – if we’re doing this we need to be quiet.”_

_Sanji cocked his head to the side. “Do what, exactly?”_

_The girl rolled her eyes. “The door locks and people don’t come down here. Privacy, duh.”_

_“You want to . . .” He was going to say “make out” (that warranted privacy, right?), but Sanji felt his heart nearly stop when he saw the young woman pull a shiny foil packet out of her purse – THAT was used for more than just locking lips and frisky fingers and he suddenly realized Tanya was moving a lot faster than he realized._

_Tanya winked. “Yeah. That.”_

_Sanji’s palms started to sweat. They’d barely spent any time alone and already she wanted to go this far? His head was a mess – he was still a virgin, so this would be first time. Did he really want it to happen this way? Was this normal? Or had he just done something really, really right to get her this interested this quickly?_

_Still . . ._

_“In . . . the bathroom? Here? Now? But we’ve-“_

_“Discreet,” she said. “It’s more exciting that way.”_

_Sanji shook his head. “Look, I actually kind of live here so if you’d rather go to my room-“_

_Tanya shushed him. “We don’t have time for that! Come on, hurry!”_

_Sanji swallowed, looking behind him as he followed her into the restroom._

_The following day, Sanji offered to pick up Tanya’s tab – she ate well that evening and thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. The cook had beamed. He was in love. He was okay that he lost his virginity in a bathroom stall because he had a girlfriend who kissed him and said he was good looking and well, that was all right, wasn’t it? The other chefs had talked amongst themselves about unusual hookups they’d had in the past, and this was no different._

_Except that it had been his first._

_Two days after, Tanya showed up with another man – the son of a merchant ship captain._

_Confused and hurt, Sanji waited for this other man to excuse himself before taking the seat across from her. He was a little surprised to see she was staring at him kind of funny, but found every last ounce of gall he had and forced himself to finish what he’d started. There had to be a logical explanation for this – right? They’d shared something special . . . hadn’t they?_

_“Tanya, what’s going on?” he asked quietly. “Who is that guy and what are you doing here with him?” Tanya stared at him blankly as Sanji reached across the table and took her hands. He tried not to panic, and kept talking. “Are you being forced into a marriage with him or something? Because I’ll kick his ass if that’s-“_

_“I don’t want you to kick his ass and no I’m not being forced into marrying him.”_

_“Then why are you on a date with him?” asked Sanji. “Tanya, please, I-“_

_Tanya blinked, then covered her mouth. “Wait, wait, you thought . . . me and you?”_

_Sanji felt the color drain from his face. “We’re . . . not . . . together?”_

_That was the moment things started to get ugly. “Why the hell would I date some stupid cook in a dumb restaurant? This guy makes more in a day than you make in a month,” said Tanya, holding back laughter. Sanji didn’t think this was funny at all and could feel his stomach starting to lurch. “You didn’t think that thing in the bathroom a few days ago was serious, did you?”_

_“. . . that was my first time,” he said in a hushed whisper. Maybe she’d realize that she was hurting him, and maybe she could at least apologize, and maybe they could still, at least, be friends. If it was just a misunderstanding, he thought he could live with that. His heart was racing, and he wasn’t sure if he should be crying or yelling. “Yes, I thought it was serious.”_

_“Explains why it was over so quick, Speedy,” said Tanya, sighing as she rolled her eyes._

_“. . . but I thought we had something!” Sanji hissed back._

_“Baby, is this waiter bothering you?” Sanji turned to see that Tanya’s date had returned, looking annoyed with his presence at the table. Tanya simply played with her hair and pouted. The other man ripped the chair out from under Sanji, sending him tumbling away from the table and getting the attention of the other patrons. Too shocked and heartbroken to do anything, Sanji didn’t move as the other man placed his foot on his chest and pressed down. “Let me explain your place. Your job is to take our ORDERS, bring us our FOOD, and have a smile on your FACE the entire TIME. Got it, punk? Now go get our salads before I complain to the owner.”_

_“C’mon, Sanji, you’re not going to take that from him!”_

_“Yeah, get him!”_

_“Whoo-hoo!”_

_Sanji ignored their regulars and the other chefs as he stood, brushed himself off, and silently headed into the kitchen._

_He cried himself to sleep that night._

 

_Present Day_

 

                Deltana walked up to Sanji and crossed her arms. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said.

                Sanji was at a loss for words. It was like watching a dream. She looked a little bit older, yes, but it _had_ been four years since he’d seen her - he probably looked a bit older, too. Her hair was a bit longer and her makeup was a bit heavier, but it was her. He’d recognize those eyes and that voice anywhere. “I . . .  didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said.

                Braeburn exchanged a quizzical look with Jimmy. Darryl raised an eyebrow.

                “I didn’t think I’d see you again, either, Speedy,” said Deltana.

                The cook paled and felt his throat go dry.

                “I’ll give you credit – you can sing, and you can definitely still cook – I thought I recognized last week’s beef barley, just like I used to get it back at the Baratie,” said Deltana, drumming her fingers on her arms. “Quick, cheap, and easy – or was that something else? Care to remind me, Speedy?” The grin on her lips was dripping with malice.

                Jimmy looked confused. “Sanji, do you and Deltana know each other?”

                Deltana slid next to him and draped an arm around his shoulder – Sanji tried to recoil away, but she dug her nails into his arm. “Oh yes, we know each other. Because we’ve fucked."

               "Sanji, dude, what the  _hell_?!" Jimmy said in an accusatory tone. Darryl looked hurt, and Braeburn looked confused.

               "It . . . it was a long time ago . . . before we got here . . . I swear . . ." said Sanji.

               Deltana snorted a laugh. "Sorry to burst your bubble . . . or pop your man cherries  . . . but looks like me and your new singer have some history after all.”

               " _Ancient_ history," Sanji tried to correct, but it didn't seem like it was having an effect on her.

                “Deltana, shut up,” said Braeburn, pushing Jimmy and Darryl aside to confront the woman.

                “Oh please, you idiots thought you could clean up your act with him? First of all, sex sells, and the music business is no difference, so you’re stupid for thinking you could get away from that. Second, you picked a guy who’s probably had way more hookups than I’ve had – his reputation back in the East Blue preceded him for a while. ‘For a good meal and a mediocre time call Sanji’. I saw that scrawled on the walls of more women’s bathrooms than I can remember. Damn good cook, piss poor with his-”

                “Stuff it!” Jimmy snarled, having heard enough that he finally decided to take Sanji's side – Darryl held him back.

                Sanji watched in horror as the other members of the band reacted, and he hid his face in his hands as he mulled over what Deltana had said and thought back on his sexual history. He did have a lot of one time encounters, often in places of convenience like broom closets or his partner’s boat or isolated places on the Baratie where no one would bother them - very few of his partners had even even seen his old bedroom. Every time, Sanji hoped that _she_ would be different and that _she_ wouldn’t use him like the others had – there must be a girl out there who wouldn’t use him like Tanya or Akane or Stacey #1 or Fujiko or Kyoko or Stacey #2 or all the others did. In the end, though, they all got free meals and rarely dealt with him again. None of them had loved him – not a single one. He was a cheap, easy way to get lunch, and he did it all with a smile and a swoon.

                In that moment, Sanji realized that he’d fucked up big time. He was never going to get married. Women saw him as a means to an end for a free meal – he couldn’t even give them children anymore, thanks to That Man (hell, because of Tesla, they might see him as “that freak with two Devil Fruits”). Why would anyone want him for a boyfriend or a lover or a husband?

                No one would.

                Sanji wanted to find a hole to crawl into and die. _Oh God. I’m a slut._

                “What does any of that matter? At least he shows up to practice sober and with his pants on,” said Braeburn. He was lording his height and size over Deltana in an attempt to get her to back off – the chivalrous part of Sanji’s brain was offended that Braeburn would stoop to this, but the blacksmith’s motives were not lost of him and he held his tongue. “Something that you weren’t so good at the last few months you were in the band. I’d say he’s doing a fantastic job and I don’t think he’s had so much as a date since coming here to Apple Island, so lay off!”

                “I think we all made it pretty fucking clear a couple of months ago you’re out – dragging out Sanji’s dirty laundry is not going to make what happened go away,” said Jimmy, crossing his arms and glaring at Deltana. “So what? Sounds like it’s ancient history, and those looks he’s giving you aren’t guilty ones so I’m guessing whatever went wrong was _your_ fault.”

                Darryl was glaring coldly at their former vocalist, not needing a word to convey his disgust.

                It didn’t change how Sanji was feeling. Had this happened before, he wouldn’t need someone to jump to his defense. He could have handled this on his own. Or, then again, the old him might have tried to go back to her, even knowing how she viewed him. That might have been even worse, and he felt his throat go dry at the thought.

                “Boys, we fucked in a public restroom - how he was dumb enough to think that meant something is beyond me, and his boo-hooing a few days later? Pathetic. ‘But it was my first time! I thought you were serious!’ Wah, wah, wah,” Deltana spat. Sanji clenched his eyes shut – he couldn’t stomach what kind of looks he might have received from the other members of the band. Pity? Contempt? Didn't matter, he didn't want to see it. 

                “You. Get out. NOW!” Braeburn bellowed.

Despite it all, Sanji just wanted to crawl into a hole. _Everyone, please stop talking._

                “Oh come on, isn’t he fucking the mayor’s assistant?” said Deltana.

                _That_ got his attention. “No I’m not!” Sanji snapped – she was NOT dragging Nami into this. “We aren’t like that!”

                Sanji felt his heart jump into his throat. That was true. They weren’t like that.

                _. . . and that’s not going to change_.

                Nami was his friend – that’s all she’d ever be. She wouldn’t possibly want him. Not with the way he’d treated her (and every other pretty woman they’d encountered) before they’d been kidnapped. Not if she found out how . . . _sordid_ . . . his sexual history was. He’d been stupid to think anything was changing between them. He was lucky they were friends at all. There was no way she’d entertain the idea of being with him as more than that.

                “Deltana. Leave. _Now_ ,” Braeburn threatened sternly, one arm pointed at the closest exit. “You’re not performing tonight, so you have no reason to be back here. Stop harassing Sanji – you’re not getting back in the band and acting like this wouldn’t help your cause even if you had a chance. Get out of here NOW.”

                Deltana stuck her nose up and strutted away, glaring back at the band cruelly.

                “Sanji . . . are you okay?” asked Jimmy, waving his hand in front of his face. 

               Sanji was a lot of things in that moment - "okay" definitely wasn't one of them.  _How many women . . . how many women did I let use me like that . . . no wonder Zeff got so mad, it wasn't because I was just some horny kid it was . . . he must have been so embarrassed by me . . . I screwed up so bad . . . it was never the number of girls it was the context . . . I'm pathetic . . ._  “I . . . I need some time alone,” Sanji said slowly, lowering his head to wander off.

                The remaining members of Turnover exchanged worried glances.

 

                Nami waited patiently for Sanji next to the hostess stand, just like she'd promised him she would, happily holding her purse in front of her as she bounced a little in place to the music now playing. A few people were still around swaying to the music, but a lot of them had left at the end of the live performance. _This is a working community, after all . . . guess they all have work in the morning._ She cracked a grin. _Still, that was so great!_

                Though she considered herself a woman of many talents, music was not something Nami considered herself particularly well versed in . . . especially after her audition for the band had gone so poorly. That didn’t change her opinion of Sanji’s performance – he was _really_ good up there and left her more than a little pleasantly surprised. Even if he’d missed every other note, Nami couldn’t tell the difference, nor did she particularly care – she liked what she heard . . .

                _. . . and what I saw._

                Although he’d been nervous for the past 24 hours or so, Sanji had found his confidence during the first song and was fine for the rest of the set. Although not doing anything particularly complicated, he was moving around a little and using the microphone and its stand to his advantage, swaying and swinging his hips in time with the music when called for. He was smiling brighter by the end of it, and seemed a little tired but satisfied when he and the band took their bow after the last number was over.

                Now she just needed to make sure she didn’t lose her own confidence.

                Sanji made her happy, and why shouldn’t she be happy? Part of the point of being on the island was to help them recover from what That Man did to them, and shouldn’t finding things that made them happy be a part of that? It wasn’t like they needed to jump into the deep end right away or anything, maybe just going out to lunch and acknowledging it was a date-date and not a two-friends-having-lunch-thing would be a good first step. They could worry about more intimate things like making out or – Nami shuddered a little – _making love_ – later on.

                _Making love_ had been a topic on her mind ever since the shower incident. She was still a virgin, but as of late she'd been . . . interested, to say the least. Like, not "jump him as soon as they got back to the apartment" interested but more of a "maybe if he plays his cards right he'll _really_ enjoy what comes after our second or third date" interested. She was anxious but not  _too_ anxious . . . the perfect amount of anxious, she suspected.

                Nami blushed - she was thinking  _way_ too much about that that part of dating. 

                Deciding to focus on something else, she took a look at the clock on the wall and realized it had been a full thirty minutes since the set had ended. Nami raised an eyebrow in confusion - she didn't think any "wrap up" they had to do after the performance would take more than five, maybe ten minutes. Sanji said he didn’t think it would be that long after their set was done that they’d meet her and they’d decide where to go from there. Maybe they just got caught up talking after the show? Getting frustrated and a little impatient, Nami started to weave through the crowd to get to the backstage area.

                Once she got there (after having squeezed between a particularly frisky couple and an oblivious drunk), she found Jimmy sitting by himself, looking around in worry. When he saw Nami he got to his feet and went over to her. “I’m so sorry, Nami, are you looking for Sanji?”

                “Yeah – is everything okay?”

                Jimmy avoided eye contact. “Um, not exactly. Uh, if he wants to give you the details I’ve leave it up to Sanji, but he and our old vocalist exchanged some words and after she took off in a huff, he took off to ‘be alone’ – he looked really depressed, so Darryl and Braeburn went after him.” Nami listened to the story with concern.

                _Shit. Deltana DID do something. But what?_

                “They ‘exchanged some words’? What exactly happened?” asked Nami.

                “It got a little personal,” said Jimmy. “Apparently Sanji and Deltana know each other.”

                “Huh? But Sanji said he’d never met her before,” said Nami.

                “That’s what he thought, yeah, but when he knew her she was going by a nickname so he didn't know he knew her,” the drummer said somberly. “Has he ever mentioned a ‘Tanya’?” Nami shook her head - she couldn't recall one being brought up before. “Well, apparently Deltana still has a big affect on him – he was really, really down when he left. She said some really nasty stuff to him.”

                Before they could continue any further, Braeburn and Darryl appeared with Sanji sandwiched between them, their arms over his shoulders as they encouraged him to “not let her get to him” and “forget about her”, with the blacksmith doing all of the talking and the guitarist being as sympathetic as he could. Nami rushed over to Sanji, planting herself directly in front of him. He paused, looked up, and just stared at her sadly.

                “Sanji-kun, what’s wrong?”

                “. . . I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

                Nami bit her lip. “Braeburn, mind if I take Sanji home now?”

                “I was going to suggest that, actually,” said Braeburn.

                Nami wrapped her arms around Sanji for a hug. She froze when he didn’t return it.

                _Sanji-kun . . . what’s wrong?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
>  (Original)
> 
> I wanted to start off by thanking everyone who left reviews offering their prayers and thoughts (and if anyone out there didn’t feel comfortable commenting but is keeping me in their thoughts and prayers anyways, thank you to you, too!). Thank you so, so much. As things happen that I’m comfortable sharing I’ll toss you guys an update every so often.
> 
> I’ve had two chemo treatments so far (I get them every other week). (Edited out: reference to me shaving my head). I have two wigs and a “bangs” piece (which is meant to go under a hat or scarf to look like bangs) and I might get a halo or two (halos are like bangs, but with hair on the sides and back). I’ve been tired a lot, too, but I’m trying to get out and about where I can.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for your support, thoughts, and prayers.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> Yeah needless to say that was the "big" thing going on in 2013 and I'm preeeetty sure that's what most of the author's notes looked like - heck, a lot of the comments for "Debut" were mostly people giving me their support, and for that I'm still grateful - part of what got me through that ordeal was having a good support system.
> 
> So there was a little bit added throughout this one - nothing big, mostly just some reflection and what-not, changed a little bit of dialogue here and there . . . nothing too big. I'm kind of enjoying this editing because it's been good to revisit some part of this story. 
> 
> Anyways, onto the next chapter!
> 
> Dixxy


	20. Celibacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji thinks about is past mistakes and comes to a decision. Nami feels like she's made a terrible mistake.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Nineteen: Celibacy

 

                The walk back to the apartment was in silence, and their strides were slow. They hadn’t exchanged words since before leaving the rest of Turnover backstage. Nami kept looking at Sanji with worried eyes, trying to coax a response from him. Nothing worked – his eyes seemed empty and almost lifeless as he ambled forward, hugging himself and avoiding looking at her.

                When they got back to their building, Sanji started to pat down his jeans for his keys – Nami fetched hers from the depths of her purse and held them out to him. Sanji blushed and little and gave her a low registered ‘thank you’ as he let them into the building. Nami bit her bottom lip in worry as he passed her. _Sanji-kun, what did she DO to you?!_

  Nami's eyes momentarily darkened. And _more importantly, what am_ I  _going to to do to_ her _!?_

                Nami spent the ascent up the stairs to their floor gathering determination and trying to catch up to Sanji. Once they were in their apartment it would just be them – no Deltana or Tanya or whoever the hell she was, no Turnover, no anyone, just the two of them. Maybe he just needed to get away from the outside world for a little bit – that was okay. She could handle that. 

                Once they were inside the apartment, Nami asked her question for the hundredth or so time. “Sanji-kun, what happened?”

                Sanji looked at her sadly as he took off his scarf. “Mind if I take a shower?”

                “Not until you tell me what-“

                He interrupted her as he started to walk towards the bathroom, kicking off his shoes. “Deltana’s the girl I lost my virginity to back when I was seventeen. She broke my heart.” Sanji peeled out of his t-shirt and disappeared down the hall to take his shower, leaving Nami stunned in the middle of their living room.

                Vaguely, she did remember her conversation with Sanji about their sexual histories.

                _“. . . I was seventeen when it happened. It was a one-time fling. I thought it was something more than it was. She’d been making eyes at me for a while, so I thought she liked me and I kind liked her because she was definitely cute, but . . . she did not want anything more than a fling. And a free meal. She got both. And then she came in a few days later . . . she made a comment about my inability to perform to her liking and then left. Never saw her again.”_

                Sanji had tried to brush it off as no big deal, citing his ability to flirt with women years after it had happened and joking that it gave him “practice”, but there was an underlying pain to the story. This hadn’t been a case of puppy love when he was a child or some random girlfriend – this was the girl he’d had his first time with, and based on Nami’s encounter with her earlier that day, she wasn't exactly a "good" person. She'd been chomping at the bit to get revenge on Braeburn, Jimmy, and Darryl, and it looked like she was going to use poor Sanji as a pawn in her little game. 

                Nami fumed. _He does NOT need this right now! We’re supposed to be moving past things that hurt us, not picking at the wounds!_  She'd need to talk to Braeburn and the other two about this more later - Sanji was being dodgy with her so she wasn't sure even she'd be able to get the whole story out of him, but she was going to need information. 

                Trying to come up with a plan, Nami slid into the kitchen. She heard the water turn on in the shower - she hoped the hot water would calm him down some, but she wasn't hopeful about it. Taking a deep breath, Nami started looking around for something to try and help him and found the tea he'd given her a couple of weeks ago. She filled their kettle with hot water and put it on the stove. Maybe a cup of tea would make him feel better.

 

                Sanji stood under the stream of the shower, leaning against the tiled wall as he thought about the night’s events and the events of many, many days and nights previous. Just how many of them had there been? How many partners did he have? He held up his hand and started counting fingers – there was Deltana, and then there were six women he’d gone to bed with that he considered girlfriends. Okay, that wasn’t so bad - seven felt like a normal-ish number, right?

                _But how many of them heard of my reputation first and thought . . ._ he swallowed.

                Then, what about one night stands? How many was it? How many girls had used him once and discarded him like a used doggy bag? He started counting again. Sanji figured it out by location. How many girls made it to his bedroom? Eight, bringing the total to fifteen. He recalled four girls he'd been with on his old boat, the one that he and Luffy had crash-landed on Nami's island. Nineteen. There’d been three girls he’d been with in Zeff’s room (he’d been upset with him over something stupid and did it partially to spite the old man), so twenty-two. Ten girls had taken him to their boats, so that was thirty-two. One girl had been with him in the Mackeral Head #1. Thirty-three. Another had been with him on one of the upper decks of the Baratie late one-night. Thirty-four. Six more had slept with him at inns or taverns on islands around the East Blue, usually when he was out on a supply run or a trip promoting the restaurant. That made forty.

                Forty.

                _Forty_.

                And he didn’t think was the end of the list.

                Sanji slid to the floor of the shower. Just how many people had used him and his body? He grasped his head with his hands, trying to stop himself from remembering anymore. He didn’t want to remember anymore, but more and more names and faces popped into his head - supply closets, coat rooms at a theater he liked to bring dates to, two more in the Mackeral Head #1 he'd forgotten about . . . it had all been meaningless, and he hated the thing he’d turned himself into – maybe the Love Cook was gone, but his ghost was still haunting him. It had to have been at least  _fifty,_ even considering there was probably some overlap (he was fairly certain the first Mackeral Head #1 girl had also had him in Zeff's room and the break room). 

                Getting to his feet, he shut the water off and opened the door. He paused, finding himself staring face to face with none other than Kishido, sitting on their toilet and looking at him pensively. It had been months since he'd seen this particular vision, when he'd been encouraging them during their escape, but now he looked angry. Sanji felt a gasp catch in his throat, but he didn’t dare speak as the armored version of himself got to his feet. “That many women, Sanji?” he asked, a disappointed and displeased look on his face.

                Sanji squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. He didn’t want to deal with this.

                “You say you follow kishido, and you don’t want to hurt any women,” he said, advancing on Sanji. “And yet what would you have to offer the next one? Could you marry her? You’re a pirate – you’d get chased out of the chapel before your bride could even walk herself down the isle – you’d just leave her there, standing at the altar all by herself.”

                Sanji closed his eyes, trying not to picture Nami crying alone at a church altar.

                “You’re sterile – you couldn’t give her children.”

                There she was again, looking sadly at an empty cradle, rocking it back and forth.

                “Do we even need to talk about how much of a freak you are?” said Kishido. “You’re lucky only Mac and Gala know about your situation here – Braeburn, Ria, Jimmy, Darryl, Wendy, Sundae, everyone who works at the Cider Mug, they’d label you a freak. Just having ONE Devil Fruit power would do that – any idea what people would do to someone with two?”

                Sanji wanted it to stop. He couldn’t bear the thought of Nami getting hurt because of him.

                “You know what you need to do. You can still make this right.”

 

                By the time the water was hot enough for the chamomile, the shower had stopped and she’d heard Sanji go into their bedroom. She started to steep two cups of the tea and brought it over to their table, hoping Sanji would be lured out by the scent. Thinking that maybe some cookies might help, too, she grabbed her secret stash of shortbread and dumped them onto a plate.

                Sanji eventually emerged from their room in a plain t-shirt and pajama bottoms. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

                Nami shook her head, encouraging him to sit down with her for the tea and cookies. “You weren’t being a jerk, Sanji-kun, just a little . . . distant. Jimmy told me that she did something to upset you and I just want to help, okay? Just tell me what happened – about tonight, whatever happened between you and that woman before, anything. I want to know what you’re going through so I can be there,” she said. Sanji looked over the treat, sighed, and dunked a cookie into the tea.

                “I was seventeen, and Tanya – that’s what she went by – was a regular at the Baratie. She kept making eyes at me and sort of led me on for a few weeks until one day she lured me towards the back of the restaurant. I probably thought it was to set up another meeting or maybe make out or something, but she . . . wanted to have sex, then and there,” said Sanji.

                “Okay,” said Nami, raising a cookie to her mouth.

                “In one of the extra bathrooms,” he said, unable to look at her.

                Nami paused mid bite. “What?”

                “I lost my virginity in a woman’s bathroom stall,” he said, looking humiliated. Sanji held his head in his hands. “I thought she wanted to be my girlfriend so I was okay with it, like it would be one of those wild stories I heard the other cooks talk about all the time - you know what they were like, they shared all kinds of crazy conquest stories and I thought I'd have one, too. I still tried to convince her to go back to my room but she was all ‘no, no, we won’t get caught back here’ and like an idiot I went along with it." He sighed. "It was . . . awkward and uncomfortable. I kept thinking about where I was the whole time and how . . . weird . . . it was. Then she comes back a day or two later with the son of some rich merchant ship captain and tells me it didn’t mean anything.”

                “Sanji-kun . . .” Nami reached across the table to try and comfort him – Sanji pulled away.

                “I don’t make good decision when it comes to women. You know how many sexual partners I’ve had? Somewhere around fifty or so, and I’m not sure I'm remembering all of them. Almost all of them were one-night stands, and the ones that were girlfriends or something that went beyond one night all fizzled out in less than two weeks. And .  . . I know some guys brag about that but . . . I’m not proud of myself for that anymore. Apparently I even had a reputation around the East Blue for being a slut – I didn’t think men could GET reputations but no, the word was that if a girl wanted a free meal at the Baratie they just needed to drop their panties and I’d provide it. And I did, over and over and over again.”

                Now Sanji seemed like he was getting really upset. “I always thought I was attractive or something but . . . no, they were all looking to get something out of me and I was too stupid to realize it. They just played along and let me think I was some kind of smooth operator. I couldn’t understand why the women on the Grand Line didn’t seem interested after I joined Luffy but now I get it – it’s because I was just a meal ticket to one of the best restaurants in the East Blue, and that reputation couldn’t follow me to the Grand Line. It’s not because I’m handsome or charming or funny or anything women like – I’m just a whore.”

                Nami felt a pang of guilt so strong she wanted to hurl. Even if she and Sanji had never had sex, she’d probably used him even worse than all of his one night stands combined. She wanted to start crying herself, apologizing for everything she’d made him do or coerced him into doing with a wink or coy pout or any other dangled carrot. Sanji was breaking to pieces right in front of her and she couldn’t help but think this was partly her fault.

                “Sanji-kun, please calm down,” Nami said. She tried reaching for him again, this time successfully taking his hands. He looked up at her, his eyes getting a little misty. “Deltana or Tanya or whoever she is, she’s just a bitch – she’s probably just trying to make you upset over her stupid place in the band and you’re letting her get to you. Don’t put yourself down like that. You are _not_ a slut.”

                Sanji closed his eyes. “Nami-san, we do not have enough fingers and toes between the two of us to count all of the women I’ve had sex with. If I’m not a ‘slut’ it’s because I’m a ‘huge slut’.” He took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from crying. Nami tried to soothe him, only to have him jerk his hands away and shake his head. “No. No, I see what you’re trying to do.”

                “Please, we’re friends, please I-“

                “I think I get it now. I know what I need to do. I’m done with women,” he said. Sanji swallowed, opened his eyes, and slowly looked up at her. “That’s it – that’s what I’m going to do. I’m done with women. I’m going to be celibate for the rest of my life. No dating, no sex, I’m done with it. Then maybe I-“

                “Sanji-kun, that’s nuts! You love women, you can't just do that over one bad experience! Somewhere out there is a woman who can love you the way all those other girls didn’t! You can’t go around making rash decision just because one stupid bitch made you cry. You told me you wanted to find the one and settle down with her and raise a family and it meant a lot to you – don’t just throw in the towel like that!” She closed her eyes. “Just . . . you need to put more thought into this. You’re upset and this just happened what, an hour or two ago? You need to calm down before you just decide to cut off an entire part of your life.”

                “And what could I give this woman? Nami-san, even if I’m not sailing the seas right now I’m still a _pirate_. I’m a _sterile_ pirate with _no future_ and so many notches on my bedpost it’s whittled down to toothpick. I’m no prize. I can’t start a family, I can’t settle down somewhere, and I’d be doing a disservice to that woman by tying her to me. Fuck, I’m a Devil Fruit user with two fruits – I’m a freak even by THAT standard.”

                “Sanji-kun, I-”

                Sanji shook his head and put a finger to her lips. “This is for the best, Nami-san.”

 

                It was only their inability to sleep alone that brought Sanji into their bedroom that night, but he kept himself to one side. Normally they planted themselves firmly in the middle, talking about how their day had gone or sharing things that their friends on the island were up to - maybe Nami had enjoyed a girl's afternoon with Ria and the girls from the Apple Blossom, or maybe something crazy had happened at the Cider Mug. Then they’d drift off to sleep, comforted by the presence of their companion.

                Tonight, Sanji had his back to her.

                Nami felt cold and alone, even with her share of the blanket and the warm late-spring air outside. Sanji was hurting, too, but he’d completely shut her out. She clung to her pillow and clenched her eyes shut. Nothing about this situation was good. Her growing feelings for Sanji were punching her in the gut. His decision to give up women wasn’t going to solve anything and that awful Deltana woman was going to continue tearing him up inside.

                She wondered if it was true that all of Sanji’s past partners had really just used him for a free meal ticket at the Baratie. Nami always figured guys didn’t care and if someone was willing to touch them they were game – especially someone like Sanji. Then again, knowing what she knew about him, it made some sort of bizarre sense.

                Sanji really did want to find the love of his life. He wanted to get married, he wanted to have children, and he wanted someone to grow old with – she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to die alone. She remembered his reaction to learning he was sterile – he’d been devastated that he couldn’t have children anymore (at least, not until they were sure the damage That Man had done was permanent or not - Gala thought with time he might get better but it was still too soon to tell). Sanji was giving up on something he wanted nearly as badly as he wanted to find the All Blue, all because of something someone had said to him.

                Nami was well aware that there was talk among the other Straw Hats about Sanji’s sex life – she knew some of the guys had a running bet over whether the cook was the lady’s man he claimed to be or if he was just a desperate virgin, and she, admittedly, had talked with Robin about him a few times (although, to be fair, Sanji WAS actively hitting on them both at the time so it was kind-of their business). Zoro always called him “love cook” like it was a bad thing, but as far as she knew the subject of these talks was oblivious to it all, or at least it wasn’t bothering him. 

                 _If Luffy knew this kind of talk would hurt Sanji this bad, we would have all been in huge trouble._

                Then there was the matter of Sanji claiming he had a "reputation", and Nami wondered how far across the East Blue it had spread. She vaguely remembered, about a year before joining Luffy, being very hungry and a couple of well-to-do girls laughing about a way to get a warm meal in exchange for “spreading her legs” – she’d thought about asking them what they meant but ultimately walked away. In retrospect she wondered if she hadn’t encountered a pair of Sanji’s former flings. They’d seemed catty and shallow and she’d disliked both of them instantly, thinking that whoever their meal ticket was couldn’t have been much better. But if this person had been Sanji, they’d been laughing about stringing him along.

                Nothing about this felt right. Nami tried to tell herself that people lived perfectly happy, celibate lives and she was just upset because of her own feelings. But the more her mind spun itself into a tizzy, the more she realized that her own romantic interests weren’t playing into this . . . much. Even if they never became lovers, Sanji was still her friend and he was hurting – very badly. This didn’t feel like his decision, he didn’t seem happy, and absolutely no one was benefiting from it – not even Deltana.

                Weren’t they supposed to be getting better on this island? Physically they’d made leaps and bounds, but after tonight their emotional well being had taken a nose dive. Maybe it was a bad idea to convince Sanji to join Turnover after all – maybe it was even more her fault for putting him in the line of fire – he might have been okay if Deltana never figured out he was on the island, or at least not somewhere she’d tried to hurt him like she had, or after he’d gotten more of his confidence back some other way.

                _I’m so sorry, Luffy, I made us worse again,_ she thought miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original)
> 
> Sorry this took so long – every time I went to look at this for a final read through to try and catch mistakes and typos (you know, because I’m SO GOOD at catching them all >_>) I got tired and gave up before finishing. On top of that convention season is upon us and I have convention prep to do (yes, I’m still going to try and do a convention – I think I’ll be okay as long as I rest well when I need to, wear a medical mask, and avoid licking any doorknobs) so I’ll be busy with that, too.
> 
> (2016)
> 
> Yeah this wasn't exactly a "fun" chapter - I don't think we get one of those for a while, actually - but it does do some plot moving stuff so there's that, I guess. 
> 
> -Dixxy


	21. What Do I DO?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami observes Sanji's depression deepen.

Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Twenty: What Do I Do?

 

                A week went by, and the wall of ice in their apartment had only grown.

                Ever since Sanji had made his “decision”, things had changed, and it was far worse than Nami had originally predicted. She thought that maybe with time she’d get used to it, and Sanji would be closer to normal again, just living a life free of romantic entanglements. She tried to believe she was overreacting, she tried to believe he’d realize he was overreacting, but it didn’t help.

                When they were both home, things were awkward. Only bare minimum communication took place – basic greetings and farewells, questions about how their days went with one word answers, requests about grabbing something if the other was going out. It was all about the motions and nothing more. Their friendship – the meaningful parts of it, at least – had vanished into thin air.

                Bedtime was the worst. Sanji had tried sleeping on the couch after that first night, but it was preventing both of them from sleeping and none of his attempts went beyond two hours. The lack of sleep they were both experiencing probably wasn’t helping either of their situations, and eventually he gave up, at least for the time being. Still, he kept himself to one side of the bed, always with his back to her. Even with the heat of summer approaching, Nami always felt cold.

                True, her feelings for Sanji had grown, and it hurt to think that the door to something more than friendship had closed, but what really strung was the loss of everything else they had before – the bonds they’d forged as pirates, as prisoners, and during their recovery on Apple Island. Sanji really had become her most precious treasure, and no amount of gold or silver could bring him back now that it looked like he was, effectively, gone.

                Sanji was insistent that he was fine, but everything about him seemed a bit off kilter. His cooking had become bland, lacking his usual pizzazz and passion. Much to her surprise he was staying with the band (at least for now) but he didn’t seem as invested in studying as he was before.  Even the way he walked and the way he moved just wasn’t him anymore. He was a shell of a person, haunted by the memories of Deltana and the countless others who’d broken his heart.

                Nami was more than a little grateful when Ria stopped by one afternoon with three cups of coffee and a written notice that she wanted to re-do the interior of her shop. “One for you, one for our dear Mr. Mayor, and one of me,” Ria said with a smile and a wink as Nami started to look for the appropriate paperwork.

                “Thanks – Mac stepped out a while ago but he should be back any minute, and he does love his coffee,” said Nami. She sifted through the paperwork and sighed. At least someone in the room was bright and chipper. “So you want to tear down a wall to make more space in the shop? That’s nice. It’ll be good for your business.”

                “Yeah, business has been going really well and I wanted more room to display things, especially with summer coming and the harvest festival after that,” Ria said dryly as she took a sip of coffee. She sat on the edge of the reception desk and eyed Nami. “Everything okay, sugah? You look like you got a little rain cloud hanging over your head.”

                “Not really,” she said. “I don’t know if Braeburn told you about what happened with Deltana.”

                Ria scoffed and crossed her legs. “Yeah, he did. So what if she and Sanji bumped uglies?”

                “Sanji-kun was really, really badly affected by it. I’m not sure how they convinced him to stay in the band but he kind of had a break down after we got back to our apartment.” Nami told Ria about Sanji’s decision to swear off women and how badly things had been going at their apartment since then. The seamstress winced in sympathy.

                “Damn. But, wait a minute – you kept telling me the two of you weren’t in that kind of relationship, so his deciding to be celibate . . . did I miss something?” Ria asked, looking at her with and odd expression. Nami swallowed, trying to figure out how to answer. The seamstress leaned in and touched her face. “Sugah, are you crying?”

                “I. . . I’m sorry . . . I just . . . I don’t know what happened,” Nami said, tears falling down her cheeks. No, no, no, she did NOT want to cry over this. She clenched her eyes shut as she heard the town hall doors open and close, distantly hearing the sound of the mayor. Nami opened her eyes and saw Mac hobbling towards her in concern and Ria shooing him away.

                “I’m sorry, Mac, mind if Nami and I borrow you office for a little girl talk? I brought you coffee?”

 

                Mac needed his office, but the break room on the other side offered Nami the privacy she needed. Ria and Mac quickly made a sign telling anyone who came in to knock on the mayor’s door for assistance. All of this only served to make her feel even worse and more pathetic, and in that moment she hated herself for getting this upset over the situation.

                Ria had made a makeshift “couch” out of two chairs pushed together and had Nami lean on her shoulder. The seamstress had her arm around her and was laying her head over her friend’s, trying to comfort and be there for her. She was quiet, content to sit there with her legs crossed as Nami let her emotions gush out.

                “I don’t know what happened,” she finally said.

                “It’s okay, Sugah, you can tell me,” said Ria.

                Nami swallowed. “I started feeling things about him,” she said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

                Ria squeezed her shoulder. “Sometimes it starts with friendship.”

                “But now I feel like everything’s just gotten worse because of it,” Nami said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “We were supposed to just stay friends, weren’t we? And if I didn’t have these stupid feelings for him this celibacy thing wouldn’t hurt so much. . . except that he’s not himself and that worries me. A lot.” She accepted the tissues Ria gave her and blew her nose. “It’s all messed up.”

                Ria clucked her tongue. “Sugah, it’s not your fault you started to have feelings for him.”

                Nami shook her head. Even if Ria was right about her feelings not being anyone’s fault, she didn’t think she was an innocent in this situation. “But I’m the one who convinced him to audition, and I’m the one who waited to act on saying something to him. If I hadn’t talked to him about the band, or if I’d said something to him earlier, we might not be in this mess, and I hate myself for getting upset over something so stupid!”

                “This isn’t stupid – your heart is breaking, it’s okay to get upset, and Deltana is a huge bitch for saying all those things she said to him and getting his panties in a twist,” said Ria. She gave Nami a squeeze. “I’ve had my heart broken before, too. I’ve never seen it happen like this, though. But falling in love is NOTHING to be ashamed of, and it isn’t stupid.” She crossed her arms. “And as for the audition and the band and the blow out with Deltana? How in the hell were you supposed to know someone he has some ancient history with was here on _this_ island of all places? You weren’t, because that was a million to one shot that they’d both end up here.”

                “It’s . . . not just that. I used to use him a lot, too,” said Nami. She swallowed, looking at her hands. “Before we were taken away . . . we were both different. You would barely recognize the person I was. I was always so focused on money and getting my way half the time, and Sanji-kun was . . . he liked everything on two legs. Including me. And I used that to my advantage to get things from him, and he happily obliged. I was just as bad.”

                “Now that I doubt,” said Ria. “I mean . . . I don’t doubt what that horrible man did to the two of you didn’t change you both. Big stuff does that to a person. But I’m going to guess that whatever it is you two may have done to each other, either him hitting on you or your using him to get stuff . . . the two of you have a very strong friendship now. Even if you never said ‘I’m sorry’ to each other out loud, I think you forgave each other a long time ago.”

                Nami saw Ria’s point, but it didn’t make her feel any better. “I still don’t think he’s happy,” said Nami, “but I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t think he wants to talk to me about it.” She closed her eyes. “This isn’t like him, and this is such a rash decision. But then he was telling me that he’s been hurt so many times before, and it wasn’t just her, so I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt him like that.”

                “I know, and I’m sure he knows you don’t want to hurt him, either,” said Ria.

                “I’ve never felt like this for anyone before – I was so good at not falling in love,” said Nami. “I couldn’t. You know what my life was like before I joined Luffy? Oh, I was still a pirate, but it was different. Bad. I was my old captain’s slave. He was holding my village hostage and making me draw maps and sea charts for him, all the while dangling this carrot that if I got enough money together he’d leave us alone, but once he realized I was getting close he sabotaged me – if Luffy hadn’t intervened and saved me when he did, I don’t know what would have happened, but I think a lot of people would have gotten hurt . . . or worse.” She swallowed. “How could I live with myself if I brought someone else into that mess? It wouldn’t be fair.”

                Ria got quiet, but continued to rub Nami’s arm.

                “I used to be strong and independent and now look at me. Crying over a man.”

                “Being a strong, independent woman isn’t about not crying over men. . . most of the time, at least,” said Ria. “It is perfectly okay and perfectly normal to fall in love with someone, and sometimes love hurts. I know it sucks, sugah, I’ve been there. A lot of people we know and love have been there. You think you’re the only person on this planet who hasn’t gotten moody and sulked like this? You’re not the only person in this BUILDING who hasn’t gone crazy over someone.”

                “Like you and the twins’ father?”

                Ria shook her head and shrugged. “No, not exactly. It was . . . let’s call him a ‘business connection’ because at the time we were in similar lines of work.” She closed her eyes. “He was a nice enough guy – a little rough around the edges but he had his soft spots, and I found him interesting – you don’t usually get that with bounty hunters.”

                “You were a bounty hunter?” Nami asked skeptically, her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. She rethought this and frowned, shaking her head apologetically as she remembered. “Sorry, sometimes I forget you’re a swordswoman – I never see you with your swords so I don’t think about it that much. You’re either with your kids or your shop and that doesn’t really mesh with what I think of when I think of, well, swordsmen.”

                Ria smirked. “It’s fine, sugah – I keep my swords in good repair in case I need to use them and practice enough to keep myself in fighting form, but I don’t want to use them unless I have to. Defending this island and my children is all I wish to use them for anymore.” She clucked her tongue. “Bounty hunter wasn’t exactly what I was doing, but I did turn in a few crooks for money.”

                “. . . that’s what a bounty hunter does.”

                “Shush. Anyways, we crossed paths a few times over a couple of days and ended up in a room at a tavern one night with plans to meet up again the next day to talk more business. He kind of disappeared on me after that, and not long after I found out I was pregnant.” She shook her head. “I doubt he knows the girls even exist.”

                “So then it was just sex,” said Nami.

                “Yeah, pretty much – really GREAT sex, but still just sex,” said Ria, shrugging it off. “I believe sex after love is a great idea and a beautiful thing, but it’s never been a prerequisite for me. I’m fine with casual sex and one night stands, but I know it’s not for everyone. And that’s perfectly okay – it’s my body, my choice. And for everyone else it’s their body, their choice.”

                “Am I wrong for thinking Sanji’s making a mistake, or am I just being selfish?”

                “That I can’t answer – you know him better than anyone, but the only person who can really decide if this is good for them or not is Sanji. I will say that I agree with you that he’s probably not making this choice for the, well, ‘right’ reasons – letting Deltana dictate his emotions is troublesome, and if he’s acting this out of sorts I think he needs to at least re-evaluate how he’s treating _you_ , but he sounds like he needs time, if nothing else, to figure this out. If he decides this is really what he wants to do, then the two of us will get ourselves dressed up and pick up guys at the Cider Mug and we’ll find you a farmer with a firm ass. If he changes his mind and you can get his pants off, I’ll make you some sexy negligees that Sanji’s going to tear off of you with his teeth.”

                Nami couldn’t help but chuckle at the joke – she was still sad and broken up inside, but even just a taste of humor was putting her in a slightly better place. Maybe she’d be able to get back to work soon. “Thanks, Ria. I think I’m doing a little better now.” The seamstress smiled and gave her a hug, and it was good to know that, even if it wasn’t the person she really wanted, someone was there for her.

                “If he does change his mind, consider me your sexual fairy godmother.”

                Nami stuck her tongue out. “You’re trying to live vicariously through me, aren’t you?”

                Ria laughed. “It is my honor and my pleasure, sugah.”

                “Thanks for talking some sense into me.”

                “It’s okay – sometimes you need someone to point out the forest with all those damn trees in the way,” said Ria. She pulled away. “Like I said – give him some time to sort this out. It’s only been a week and he’s got a lot to process, okay?” Nami nodded as she stood, and the two women walked out of the break room.

 

                Nami got home to the smell of food cooking in the kitchen. Sanji was making dinner, but everything about it was just, somehow, wrong. Of course Nami assumed everything he was doing was, in the technical sense, right (he would NEVER do anything to risk getting either one of them sick from improper cooking), this wasn’t the person she knew.

                For one, Sanji was completely silent except for a muted “hey” when she walked in. Normally he gave her a cheerful greeting and waved or something before rambling on about what he was making and asking her if she had any special requests, or talking about his day (especially if he’d been watching the twins because they were ALWAYS up to something), or asking about her day. He’d always been so animated in the kitchen before – humming, bouncing from one item to another, flipping through cookbooks, anything.

                At that moment he was standing in one place, absently moving a stir fry around in his wok.

                Perhaps a telltale sign was the condition of his spice rack. Most of Sanji’s kitchen was well-organized and neat as a pin, but never his spice rack. He’d developed a habit of taking most of the spices down from the shelves and moving them around in different combinations, muttering to himself as he shuffled them around the counter until he finally found an old favorite he wanted to return to or something new he hadn’t considered before. As such, the spices never seemed to find themselves back on the rack in the same scheme twice, and only Sanji himself ever seemed to know where any given thing was. Some of the basics he used a lot were sometimes left out, and occasionally something would be put back upside down or lying on its side, but it always gave off the impression it was being used, and used frequently at that.

                Most of the bottles were standing in a line like soldiers at attention, gathering dust.

                Nami didn’t bother trying to engage him in conversation. She just smiled, slipped into the bedroom, ripped off her wig, and changed out of her work clothes. She doubted he would even notice, and chose a pair of black yoga pants with an orange stomach band and a plain white t-shirt. She returned to the living room. Sanji had changed positions, signaling that dinner might be ready soon. She curled up on Zoro’s loveseat, waiting for the announcement that dinner was ready.

                When Sanji called her over, Nami realized it was the same boring meal they’d eaten the past five nights in a row (baked chicken with a little salt, steamed vegetables with a hint of butter, and rice). She politely thanked him and they ate in silence, only broken by the clinking of flatware against ceramic plates. Nami kept looking up at him, but realized he was solely focused on his food.

                _This isn’t good for you. Why are you doing this to yourself?_

When the food was finished, Nami offered to wash the dishes but Sanji quietly declined, forcing a smile and saying he would do it. It wasn’t his usual smile – his lips were turned up in a grin, but his eyes looked sad and lonely. Nami considered trying again, but knew it wouldn’t work. She retreated to the spare bedroom to sulk.

                For the moment, the spare bedroom was something of a work room for both of them. There were some modest bookshelves lined with books they both needed, a desk, and an old piano Braeburn tuned every few days so Sanji would have something to practice at home with. It was dark and dimly lit, and seemed somehow desolate.

                Nami sat at the piano bench. Sanji had been getting lessons with this as well, and little by little he was picking up on it. Braeburn guessed that he wouldn’t be able to perform with one for a while, but it was still a good tool for practice and familiarizing himself with musical sounds and understanding what those were.

                She ran her fingers gently across the keys – they were clean, so she knew he was practicing something. Maybe that was why he was staying with Turnover – it was giving him an outlet to vent, and perhaps once he was done with that he’d open up to the rest of the world again and go back to being the Sanji she knew and cared about.

                Even if he didn’t want to be with her the way she wanted him, she could live with that. Hearts broke – Nojiko had gone through some rough break ups, and Robin had apparently had a very intimate affair with one of the men who’d carried the Mr. 6 moniker that she got very emotional over (which, for the archaeologist, was getting quieter than usual and going to bed early). If they could move past their men, Nami would find a way to get over Sanji.

                But even the thought of that hurt. Nami told herself it was because it was just so darn early in this whole process, but then again he wasn’t someone she could avoid. They were roommates and saw each other every day – hell, because That Man had fucked them up so bad they had to share a damn bed just so they could sleep. He was going to be painfully close the entire time he was keeping himself so far away.

                It didn’t change that, for all her wits and wiles, she was at a complete loss for what to do.

                Except, that is, for give him time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> (Original) 
> 
> On Nami’s yoga pants: Jerry from CP6 (CP6? I think it was CP6) had some sort of yoga pose on the sea train. Yoga exists in the One Piece world. Therefore, yoga pants are plausible. 
> 
> Cancer update: Whee, was I happy with the results of my last scan! Tumor has shrunk 50%, fluid around my lung is gone, and what’s left of the tumor is both less intensive and much of it’s just dead cells at this point. So yeah, I’m kicking this thing’s ASS. 
> 
> Convention: The con I’m going to isn’t until May, but I have a lot I need to do. For wigs/costumes I’m doing rule 63 Sogeking (so Sogequeen) and possibly just getting a fun wig in the dealer’s room if I get sick of cosplay and want something lower maintenance (but I’m still going to want a medical mask).
> 
> Next time (provided I don’t get any brilliant ideas) will touch a little on Sanji and his mental health, but through the eyes of Braeburn. And also massive teasing into the blacksmith’s backstory (similar to or a little more than what you got of Ria’s backstory).
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> (2016)
> 
> I changed around some of Nami and Ria's conversation but otherwise I didn't do a lot of buffing with this chapter. It's not really an "exciting" chapter (though I do like I what did with the spice rack to reflect Sanji's change in behavior) but yeah, he's mostly being a sad panda right now. 
> 
> Also anyone who read this on Fanfiction.Net probably had a couple of "I see what you did there" moments this chapter :)
> 
> -Dixxy


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